Injustice for Cole
by coffeeasfood
Summary: In canon, after the classroom window is broken, Cole stands up to Mr Phillips and refuses to accept any punishment from him. This story explores an alternate universe in which Cole is too frightened to stand up for himself, and has to accept the punishment Mr Phillips is determined to dish out. The events of this day have far-reaching consequences and lives are changed forever.
1. Chapter 1 - Open You Hand

"Hey! What's this?" Billy cried, swooping in and tearing the ball of clay from Cole's grasp, as he sat in the cloakroom, tossing it from hand to hand.

Billy ran into the classroom with the ball – Cole hot on his heels.

"Give it back!" Cole pleaded, reaching to snatch it back from Billy, who quickly moved it out of reach.

"What even is this?" Billy asked, wiping his clay-covered hand on his pants, a note of laughter in his voice.

Cole pushed Billy in the chest, causing Billy to stumble back into a desk. Billy may have been stockier than Cole, but it was Cole who had the height advantage, as well as the benefit that only cold, mounting fury could provide.

"Give it back." Cole again asked, advancing on Billy.

Billy pulled his balance back, and stood to his whole height, trying not to feel intimidated by the anger he could feel from Cole.

"You want it back? Catch it then!" And with that, he whipped his arm back, and with all the strength he could muster, threw the clay ball at Cole.

Cole winced, as did the other children in the room, and involuntarily ducked. He hadn't been ready for a throw. And honestly, he knew he wouldn't have caught it anyway.

The ball whizzed threw the air, and with a sickening crack, hit the window and splintered the glass, before falling wetly to the floor.

There was a gasp from the entire class, and a horrible silence fell over them. They all knew, instantly, that this was bad.

At first, they'd enjoyed the spectacle of the two boys arguing. A bit of drama. Something to speculate and gossip about later. But now it was serious. This would lead to big trouble for one of them. Both of them. All of them.

A second or two seemed to stretch into minutes, before everyone jumped at the noise of a door flying open.

"Mr Andrews! That's enough!"

Mr Phillips marched into the room, fire in his eyes. He paused a moment, looking at the cracked pane of glass, before crouching to pick up the ball of clay. Then, holding it disdainfully between his fingers, he turned to stare at the horrified children.

"Who does this belong to?"

He didn't shout. He didn't need to. The children were used to his shouting and threats. This simple, quiet question held more terror, because everyone knew where it could lead.

Cole held his ground, biting his lip briefly, and dredged up his courage.

"It's mine Sir."

Mr Phillips said nothing. Holding the clay away from his suit, he advanced towards Cole, staring right at him. Cole involuntarily backed away. Mr Phillips wasn't very much taller. But he was older, stronger and in authority. And he had humiliated and abused Cole before. Cole was scared of him.

Mr Phillips said nothing, merely bending slightly to open the door to the stove and throwing the clay into the flames. Cole wanted to say something. He was angry. But he was too scared.

"Your parents will have to pay for a new window." Mr Phillips said, glaring at Cole.

Cole's heart dropped with a sudden thud, right into the pit of his stomach. He wanted to pinch himself to see if this was all a horrible dream. Yet he knew it wasn't. His parents could barely afford to feed him and his sisters, his clothes were worn and thin. There certainly wasn't any money for school house windows. And yet, when the bill came for the window, Cole knew there would be fury from his parents. He knew sacrifices had been made so that he could attend school, and if school was going to cost his parents yet more money… Well, he'd be making up the debt in lashes from his father's belt. And probably more of them than he could bear.

Cole glanced at Mr Phillips, barely daring to make eye contact.

"My parents can't afford that."

There was a pause, then Mr Phillips seemed to almost shrug.

"Then we'll have to punish you in some other way."

He turned and walked calmly towards his desk at the front of the classroom. Cole and the other children watched, bemused, as Mr Phillips opened a drawer of the desk and removed something from inside.

A switch. Long, and browned with age.

Cole's eyes flew wide open and he had to stop himself from crying out in shock. Although he'd never seen a switch used in the class before, he knew well enough what it was for, and what Mr Phillips intended to do with it.

Mr Phillips came towards him, the switch held out wide for theatrical effect. Cole did his best to hold his ground, his heart pounding in his chest. He wouldn't cry out. He wouldn't.

He stared straight ahead, not trusting himself to look at Mr Phillips, or the switch.

Then there was a sudden flicker of pain as Mr Phillips flicked the side of Cole's hand with the switch.

"Open your hand."

Cole winced with the sudden line of heat across his hand. He could feel his pulse thundering in his ears. He willed himself to faint, fall to the floor, anything to avoid the inevitable. But no, his body was too young and healthy for such nonsense, and he stayed resolutely standing.

Yet, through his fear, there was just enough of him still in there, to attempt some self-preservation. He glanced up at Mr Phillips.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

Mr Phillips raised his eyebrows and glared at Cole.

"You are the most disruptive student in this classroom!"

Cole then experienced something very strange. His fear melted away, just for an instant, giving him enough courage to square up to his teacher.

"That may be your perception. But it is NOT fact. If you want to hate someone, you should look in a mirror!"

Cole's words trailed away as a sickening hush fell over the entire room, as everyone's eyes locked on Mr Phillips face. They could almost see a red haze of anger fall across his features. Cole's breath was rapid and shallow. He knew he had crossed to a point of no return. He knew that he'd just made the inevitable ten times worse.

Mr Phillips broke the silence. His voice quiet and slow.

"Open. Your. Hand."

Cole and Mr Phillips stood, barely a foot apart, waiting to see who would move next.

Cole wanted to scream. He wanted to stare right into Mr Phillips' face and shout at him, "NO." He wanted to be defiant. But he couldn't. He was too scared. And he knew. He knew he was at Mr Phillips mercy.

The seconds stretched out. The whole room seemed to be in suspended animation. Everyone knew something awful was going to happen, and what that was going to be seemed pretty clear.

The tension was broken by Mr Phillips first. His eyes still locked on Cole's, his free hand shot out and grabbed the cuff of Cole's sweater sleeve, pulling his arm up and out to the side. He took a step sideways, and keeping his eyes fixed, expressionless, on Cole's face, he rolled up Cole's cuff just a few inches. Then pulling the button of his shirt cuff apart also, forcing it up his wrist. Leaving his hand and wrist exposed.

While Mr Phillips fiddled with Cole's clothes, the switch, dangling loosely from his fingers, swung between them, bouncing off both their legs as Mr Phillips rearranged the fabric around Cole's wrist.

He took a firm hold on Cole's hand and forcibly uncurled his fingers. He lifted Cole's arm higher, so that Cole's outstretched arm and hand were at about chest height, an arm's length from his body.

Mr Phillips took a better grip on the switch and stepped away from Cole, lifting the switch and resting it, momentarily, against his shoulder.

"You do not move. Keep that hand out."

Cole's breath was coming in rough little pants. He could almost feel his whole body shaking. He willed his outstretched, upturned palm to stay still. He was scared, but he wouldn't break in front of Mr Phillips. He wouldn't. He wouldn't.

The room fell into a dead silence. The nervous shuffling of feet stopped. No more anxious little coughs. The rustling of heavy, starchy fabrics fell quiet. All observing eyes in the room were flicking quickly between Mr Phillips, the switch, and Cole's vulnerable, waiting hand.

Cole himself could not watch. He fixed his gaze somewhere over Mr Phillips' right shoulder, towards the window. "Think about the sculptures." He told himself. Anything to pull his mind away from this nightmarish moment.

In his peripheral vision, he was aware of Mr Phillips side-stepping to line up with his out-stretched arm. He could just see him raising the switch, taking a deep breath, and swinging his arm downwards with a well-practised flick of the wrist.

The physical impact knocked Cole's whole arm down at least a foot, jarring his shoulder. Then the pain hit. A burning-hot line had ignited itself across Cole's now quivering palm.

"Hand up!" A voice commanded. "Straighten your fingers!"

Cole felt as if he was shaking from head to toe. He had had beatings before, from his father, but they were different. A public whipping like this, from a man he hated and feared, in front of his peers, was hard to bear.

With an effort, Cole lifted his arm again, and straightened his fingers as best he could, turning his eyes back towards the window.

He barely had time to steady his breathing, before the air was filled with a high-pitched whistle and a clap, as the switch, for a second time, made contact.

But Cole had felt the pain now. It had lost the element of shock and surprise. Now he just had to ride it out. He would not break before Mr Phillips was finished. He wouldn't cry out.

As the fresh, burning wave of pain soared through his body a second time, he bit his lip and clenched his jaw. He found his eyes involuntarily swooping the room and settling on Anne. She was looking at him with a mixture of shock, pity and compassion.

He held her eye as the third cut fell on his hand. Hunching his shoulders and screwing his eyes closed, he bit back a cry.

The fourth blow fell. His whole body was burning. He wanted to scream. He glanced at Anne, his mouth silently moving, barely able to see her, his lashes thick with tears. She shook her head at him and frowned. Even through his red haze of pain, he read the message. Don't cry. Don't give him the satisfaction.

Breathing raggedly now, Cole was able to open his fingers again, and wait, visibly shaking all over now, for the fifth blow.

It fell quickly, the switch cutting through the air with a horrible whistle.

All the air Cole had in him was driven out of his body as he hissed through his teeth with the pain. Surely it was nearly over?

He blinked slowly at Anne and she nodded briefly at him. He was taking it. He wouldn't let this man win. He was winning.

The pain in his hand, and radiating up his arm, was appalling. His hand felt frozen in place. He couldn't have curled his fingers now, even if he'd wanted to. But he clearly wasn't holding his arm up high enough for Mr Phillips liking.

The switch suddenly changed direction, and smacked sharply into Cole's right thigh.

"Hand! Up!"

Every nerve in Cole's body was screaming at him now, but summoning every last scrap of determination he possessed, he dragged his swollen, burning hand into position.

Clearly sensing that Cole was at the edge of his tolerance, Mr Phillips made it quick. He knew what he was doing and made sure that the final cut intersected the previous five. Like the cross-bar on a gate.

Cole finally screamed. A wailing animal cry. The final blow, falling as it did, across swollen, grazed flesh was too much.

His arm came down and he thrust his hand between his knees. Squeezing, as if he might squeeze the pain away.

Mr Phillips himself took a steadying breath and tucked the switch under his arm. Despite how it may appear to the children, he took no pleasure in beating his students. He was only 27 years old, and it seemed to him sometimes like there was no time at all since he'd last had a beating at school himself. But he knew order must be maintained. "Give them an inch and they'll take a mile". That's what another school master had said to him once.

Without another word, or glance at Cole, he swung on his heel and dropped the switch on the desk.

"Glass dismissed for recess." He said over his shoulder, before disappearing into the store room.

For a long moment, not a single child moved. They all stood, shocked by what they had witnessed, staring at Cole, who was still bent double in the middle of the classroom.

Diana was the first to step forwards towards Cole. She took hold of his elbow gently, and cradled his forearm.

"Let's go outside Cole. We can bathe your hand in the stream."

Cole let Diana lead him. He hugged his hand close to his body as Diana gently held his arm.

For a long moment, no-one noticed the blood droplets on the wooden floor.

"Look!" Ruby hissed, grabbing Anne's arm as they went to walk outside. "Blood!"

Anne's eyes shot to the floor, and sure enough, on the pale, scrubbed wood, droplets of dark red blood could be seen, in a trail, heading towards the door.

Anne ran to the closed store room door and began hammering on it with her fists.

"I hate you! I hate you! He's bleeding! I'll tell all of Avonlea what you did! I HATE YOU!"

The door flew open and Anne stumbled into Mr Phillips, rebounding off him in surprise.

He brushed invisible dirt off, with a look of distain, and stared thoughtfully at Anne.

"You tell them then, Miss Shirley. And see what happens. Now get out."

He shut the door in her face with a bang.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Mother

Anne squared her shoulders, glaring at the closed door an inch from her nose.

She span on her heel and went outside. Most of the other children had brushed off the event they had just witnessed, and were now playing quietly in small groups. A few others were simply standing around, in silent groups of two or three, thoughtfully processing what they had just seen.

Anne looked around the corner of the building, to where a small group were huddled on the ground by the stream. She could just make out the back of Cole's brown jacket, with Diana's arm held around him protectively. Offering comfort.

Anne was unsure how to proceed. In her time before coming to Avonlea, she had had beatings from any number of adults, and there was never anyone to comfort her, or soothe her bruises. Yet Cole was her friend. She felt bad that he had been humiliated and hurt so publicly. Yet, should she tell Cole she felt bad for him? How did you tell a person that?

She stood a few feet away and surveyed what she saw. Diana had taken the lead in Cole's care. He was letting her gently hold his wrist, while she used her other hand to carefully cup and pour water onto Cole's palm. Crouched on the other side of the stream was Ruby. She was leaning across the water and resting a comforting hand on Cole's shoulder, staring into his face and muttering quiet words and sounds to soothe him.

"I'm sorry you were hurt, Cole. Mr Phillips is a brute!"

The three children by the stream looked up at the voice. Anne thought she detected just a hint of a quick smile at the corner of Cole's mouth.

"Anne." Diana instructed, "Come and sit here next to me. You can help me with this."

Unsure, Anne gathered up her dress and squatted down next to Diana, getting her first look at Cole's hand. The sight was shocking, even to Anne.

Cole's hand was bright red, from his wrist to his fingertips. Yet, crisscrossing across his palm were angry-looking purple stripes, dotted with darker patches, where the skin had been scratched and broken.

Her eyes glued to his ravaged hand, her words came out in a stutter.

"Why are they… the lines… purple?"

"Bruising." Came a voice from behind them. Gilbert.

He stepped over the stream and sat down next to Ruby, who visibly blushed.

"When the skin is damaged… If you hit it like that, it breaks the tiny blood vessels right under the skin. So much blood rushing around under there… It just looks purple. See where scabs are already forming?" Gilbert indicated a couple of spots on Cole's palm.

"The skin is actually broken there. Knots in the wood probably."

They all sat for a moment, watching in silence as Diana continued to pour the cold stream water over Cole's hand.

Gilbert suddenly reached over and started to untie the scarf from around Cole's neck. Cole, in his haze of pain, winced away, but Gilbert's cool, steady touch seemed to calm him.

"Here. You need to wrap his hand up. Nice and tight. It'll help."

Diana guided Cole's hand away from the water and took the scarf. At first, knotting it around Cole's forearm, she guided it around his palm, leaving just his thumb and the tips of his fingers exposed. She let her hands cup his for a moment and looked up at him, a gentle smile on her face. She would make a wonderful mother one day.

"There. That will help you feel much better. The pain will stop soon."

Cole nodded furiously, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears. He used his other arm to quickly swipe them away.

"The bell will ring in a minute. We'd better get up now."

With Diana on one side, and Anne on the other, they helped Cole get to his feet, and then stood close beside him, as he swayed gently. His brow furrowed and his eyes looking lost and far away.

Anne's heart then did a sudden lurch as Mr Phillips appeared in the doorway to ring the bell.

The clanging bell bought an immediate end to the games and chatter that had been going on and the children rushed to hurry past him, up the steps, to reclaim their seats for the lesson. This wasn't going to be a day to test the boundaries, or play the fool.

The five children, with Cole shielded in the centre, cautiously passed Mr Phillips on the steps and entered the classroom, separating to take their seats. All were anxious about leaving Cole unsupported, but Gilbert nodded firmly and shoed the girls away with a look. He had the bench in front of Cole and he'd be able to keep an eye and ear on him.

Mr Phillips took his place at the front of the room, and his eyes narrowed as they surveyed the room.

"I hope we will not have a repeat of today's incident. I assume that no one much cared for it. Now, turn to page 38 in your reading book. Miss Andrews, you may begin."


	3. Chapter 3 - Poor Judgement

"Thank you Miss Andrews. You can sit."

Prissy sat down with relief. Reading aloud to the class was something she found painfully embarrassing.

Mr Phillips' eyes cast over the classroom, lingering for a long second on Cole. Cole had his hand squeezed between his knees, under the desk. The initial, sharp pain was dulling now, and changing to a heavy, deep ache that seemed to permeate up his entire right arm. He felt cold and shaky.

Despite his slightly slumped position, needed to keep his hand between his legs, he met Mr Phillips' gaze and their eyes locked. Cole tried to keep his expression as blank as possible. He wouldn't show his discomfort.

Mr Phillips gave a tiny shake of his head and glanced forwards towards Gilbert.

"Mr Blythe. Stand and read."

Gilbert stood, pulling himself up to his full height. He was angry. Angry at the treatment Cole had received, and furious still at Mr Phillips' point-blank refusal to give him extra tutoring for his college entrance exam.

He stood and stared at Mr Phillips for a long moment. His head tilted at a faintly quizzical angle.

"Where would you like me to begin?" He asked, finally, his voice icily polite, yet still dripping with cold, hard fury.

Mr Phillips rolled his eyes. "Was the good doctor NOT paying attention when Miss Andrews was reading? How disrespectful."

"Actually," Gilbert replied, "I had been reading ahead of Prissy. As you already know, I am keen to progress with my learning as quickly as possible. With, or without, your… somewhat ineffectual help."

A long moment passed. The class waited. A few nervous titters coming from the bolder boys at the back of the room.

"From the top of page 45. If you could trouble yourself to do so."

Gilbert made rather a show of flicking back ten or more pages and began. Making a point to keep his voice sounding bored and full of disinterest.

"He rises and begins to round,  
He drops the silver chain of sound,  
Of many links without a break,  
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.

For singing till his heaven fills,  
'Tis love of earth that he instils,  
And ever winging up and up,  
Our valley is his golden cup  
And he the wine which overflows  
to lift us with him as he goes.

Till lost on his aerial rings  
In light, and then the fancy sings"

"Enough!" Mr Phillips called. "That was possibly the dullest interpretation of Meredith's work, that I have ever had the misfortune to hear."

"Much like your teaching." Gilbert said loudly. His voice carrying right to the back of the room.

A gasp went out, rippling through the benches of watching children.

Mr Phillips took a step towards Gilbert, then paused, briefly clenching his jaw and clearly thinking hard.

He stepped back to his desk and picked up the earlier abandoned switch, which he had dropped there earlier in the day. He turned to face the class, his face unreadable.

A hand lightly touched Gilbert's back and he looked down at Cole.

Cole shook his head, "No, Gilbert. Don't."

Gilbert shook his head, frowning, and turned to stare at Mr Phillips.

Seeming to move in slow motion, Mr Phillips was walking slowly down the centre of the classroom, every single pair of eyes were on him. The switch itself was swinging lightly down at his side. He almost looked like a simple country gentleman, out for Sunday morning stroll.

Gilbert stepped out into the aisle to meet him, and began to walk towards him. They stopped, barely a foot away from each other. Eye to eye.

Mr Phillips was still taller, but Gilbert was broader and stockier than Cole, so the physical differences between them were less stark. This wasn't a pupil and teacher, this was two men who disliked each other intensely.

Mr Phillips raised the switch and idly tapped it into his palm. Threatening. Gilbert refused to watch, keeping his eyes fixed on Mr Phillips' face.

"You, boy, are most insolent."

Gilbert shrugged, trying to look casual. "I disagree. SIR. I would prefer to describe myself as… Questioning."

"Questioning, are you?" Mr Phillips asked, glaring at Gilbert. "Then perhaps you might respond to my own request, when I ask you to put out your hand."

Seconds ticked by. The classroom collectively held its breath.

"Are you sure that's a request, Sir? If it is… Well… I think I'll respectfully decline. I think we have all seen enough evidence for one day of what you can do with… that." He tilted his head at the switch.

Mr Phillips stepped in closer. They were chest to chest. The switch rapped Gilbert on the chin.

"Then let me re-phrase that, Mr Blythe. I am no longer ASKING you to put out your hand. I am TELLING you."

The order hung there for a second. Heavy, and thick with anticipation of what, or who, would move next.

Gilbert stepped forwards again, physically bumping into Mr Phillips, who took a surprised step backwards.

"I, SIR, am telling YOU, this time. No."

A few gasps rippled around the room. No one had ever dared confront Mr Phillips in this way before. It was true that no one liked him, but no one had dared to challenge his authority like this. Ever.

Mr Phillips clenched his jaw and stared down at Gilbert, his mind whirring.

Then he did something unexpected. Something that would remain with this class of Avonlea children until they were old and grey. Something they would still talk about together, many decades later, and tell their children, of how things used to be.

Mr Phillips deftly sidestepped Gilbert and went around his back. He reached down and grabbed Cole by the collar, hauling him from his seat. Gilbert watched, in mounting horror, as Mr Phillips dragged Cole down the aisle. Cole stumbling and tripping as they mounted the step at the front of the classroom.

Without pausing for breath, and before anyone could react, Mr Phillips roughly pushed Cole face-down over the desk, making the bell sitting there clang awkwardly, as Cole's forehead hit it. Clamping a hand down over the back of Cole's neck, Mr Phillips glared terrifyingly around the room and then raised the switch, bringing it down with all the stretch he could muster, across Cole's backside, with a dull, echoing thud.

The whole class erupted. A couple of the more sensitive girls let out shrieks of horror and a few of the boys leapt to their feet.

"NO ONE MOVES!"

He used the switch to make a sweeping gesture across the room and the children froze. All except Gilbert, who took a step forward, his eyes glued to Mr Phillips.

"You shouldn't be doing this, Sir."

Mr Phillips stared at Gilbert for a long moment, then delivered another resounding cut of the switch to Cole. Cole finally screamed, and squirmed under Mr Phillips' hand, but he didn't have the strength to push himself up. His hands were caught awkwardly underneath him, and he wasn't able to otherwise push the weight of a full-grown man off his neck.

"LET HIM GO!" Anne shrieked, leaping to her feet.

"He hasn't done anything wrong! How dare you!"

"SHIRLEY!" He threw back, "I was NOT talking to you! Sit down!"

Anne did not sit down. She stood, panting, in the aisle, and glanced, questioningly, at Gilbert. He nodded slightly, and, moving as one, they ran towards Mr Phillips and Cole.


	4. Chapter 4 - Acceptance

Anne and Gilbert skidded to a halt at Mr Phillips' side and stared at him. He still had Cole pinned by the neck, even though he was continuing to squirm under his grasp, throwing his hips from side to side and wriggling frantically.

"BE STILL!" Mr Phillips commanded, rapping Cole on the calf and then brandishing the switch at Gilbert and Anne.

"You need to stop." Gilbert said quietly. "This isn't Cole's fault. You're hurting him."

"Am I? AM I?" Mr Phillips raged, swinging the switch wildly at Anne and Gilbert, who stepped back hurriedly.

"And who are you to question me? Am I not the master of this classroom? Are you, and him," he gestured down at Cole, "not my students?"

Gilbert nodded, and carefully took a step forward.

"That is true, Sir. But this time, your argument isn't with Cole. It isn't fair to punish him for my bad judgement. Please. Let him go."

Mr Phillips stood silently, his brow furrowed, staring at Gilbert. A long moment passed, and still nothing happened.

Keeping his gaze locked on Mr Phillips, Gilbert moved closer, and slid himself in between Cole and Mr Phillips. Keeping eye contact, he took hold of Mr Phillips wrist, and applying very little pressure, lifted his hand from Cole's neck.

Mr Phillips took an involuntary step backwards, as Gilbert took Cole's shoulders and encouraged him to stand. Once he did so, Gilbert was able to turn him, and with a gentle pressure, pushed him into Anne's arms.

Anne immediately wrapped her arms around Cole and quickly guided him away. Shepherding him towards the back of the room, out of harm's way.

Gilbert was now standing in Cole's place, eye to eye with Mr Phillips. And then, with a resigned nod to himself, and without saying a word, he turned his back to Mr Phillips and slowly leant over the desk, stretching his arms across to grasp the other side.

A small gasp escaped from Ruby, and she grabbed hold of Diana's arm.

For a long moment, Mr Phillips stood, bemused. Looking down at Gilbert's prostrate form bent across the desk.

There was another deathly pause. Every single pair of eyes, including those of Cole and Anne, were fixed on this nightmarish performance happening before them. Gilbert had swapped places with Cole, and was going to be subject to whatever Mr Phillips saw fit to give out.

A small cough from Mr Phillips broke the silence, bringing the room back to life. Gilbert grimaced slightly, swinging his hips and taking a firmer grasp on the far side of the desk.

Everyone watched as Mr Phillips took a couple of steps back, raised the switch high, and then, with the tiniest of pauses, brought it down, lashing it hard across Gilbert's backside.

There was little response from Gilbert. Those who were looking closely at his face saw little more than a glimmer of pain flash across his face. He pursed his lips briefly and wrinkled his nose. He wriggled slightly at the hips, and then was still. Staring straight ahead. Waiting.

This time, two, three, and then four lashes fell across Gilbert in quick succession. He winced with each blow, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Every time the switch fell, each person in the room silently counted the blows.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Tension hung in the air, so thick it was almost choking them all.

There was nowhere else to go, nowhere else to look, other than this showing of brutality and passive acceptance.

Mr Phillips was scarlet in the face, panting. Gilbert was still stretched across the desk, still holding his head up. But his eyes were closed, and his knees appeared to be slowly buckling.

Then there was a rush of cooling air, as the outside door opened and someone entered.

"Mr Phillips? Stop now. Just… Put the switch down, eh?"

Matthew.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Father

The faces of every single person in the room swung around and stared at the newcomer. Some with relief, and some with utter confusion.

Matthew Cuthbert closed the door quietly behind him, and stepped further into the classroom. His eyes swept the classroom, briefly settling on Anne and Cole, huddled together in a corner, and then focusing on Gilbert and Mr Phillips at the desk.

"I think you should let the boy up now, eh? I think he's learnt his lesson."

No one in the room moved, apart from Matthew, who was slowly making his way up the aisle, his eyes narrowed and focused on Mr Phillips.

"He's had enough. Let him stand up."

As he got closer, Mr Phillips suddenly stepped away from Gilbert, letting the switch fall down to his side, and looking, suddenly anxiously, between Gilbert, still bent over the desk, and Matthew.

"Let me take that, eh?"

Matthew reached out and plucked the switch from Mr Phillips' fingers. He stepped round the desk and returned the switch to a drawer.

Mr Phillips began to shake his head from side to side, looking down at Gilbert, then up at Matthew.

"I didn't mean to… I got carried away… I…"

Matthew stopped him with a raised hand, "Be that as it may, but let me deal with this for right now… I think that would be best, don't you?"

There was no response from Mr Phillips, who was just staring down at Gilbert, with an expression of something similar to confusion.

Matthew placed his hands on Gilbert's shoulders and started to lift him up from the desk.

"Come now, lad. Up you get. You're fine now."

With a stagger, Gilbert was able to push himself up from the desk, and with Matthew's arm under his armpits, he was able to walk towards the door. Leaning most of his weight on Matthew's bulky frame.

The entire class turned to watch him leave, and their expressions of confusion and shock turned to angry murmurs as they watched Gilbert's retreat. The seat of his pants were streaked with blood.

"Where are we going?" Gilbert whispered painfully, as they hobbled from the school house.

"I think back to Green Gables would be best for now. Anne, Cole, come along as well."

Together, with both Gilbert and Cole hobbling along with a fair amount of support, they made their way down the steps and out to the field, where Matthew had left Belle grazing the hedgerows, with the cart still attached.

Matthew was able to lift Gilbert, as if he were as light as a feather, into the back of the cart, laying him down flat on his front. He knew, from his own experience, that sitting up front in the seat would have been intolerable.

With help, Cole was able to scramble up into the seat with Anne, wincing himself as he sat.

"You too?" Matthew asked, watching Cole's attempts to get comfortable.

"Not so many." Cole replied, but then showed Matthew his still-bandaged hand. "But there's this."

Matthew regarded Cole thoughtfully, and then glanced back at Gilbert, who had now shut his eyes.

"It seems you've had a most interesting day."

Anne buried her face into Matthew's sleeve, "Oh Matthew! I can't begin to tell you about it! It's been awful!"

"Now, now, Anne. Save it for a while. Let's get back to the farm, and see what's what."

And so, for once, Anne was quiet for the entire journey. She gazed out over the fields, faintly aware of Cole squeezed in next to her. From time to time, she glanced back at Gilbert, who was still lying face down. His eyes were closed, but he looked fairly peaceful.

Unintentionally, her eyes scanned down the length of his body. His jacket had ridden up slightly, leaving a small band of pale flesh visible at his waist. She found herself staring at the gentle curve of his hip. Her breathing suddenly becoming more rapid. Embarrassed, and confused by her own reaction, she let her eyes continue down his body. Noticing, for the first time, the visible streaks of blood across his pants.

She let out a small gasp. Cole felt the movement and turned to look at her, quizzically.

"What's the matter?" He asked.

Anne gestured silently with her head, in the direction of Gilbert. Cole followed her gaze, his eyes similarly roaming Gilbert's body, looking for whatever had disturbed Anne.

When he saw the blood, his eyebrows shot up in shock.

"Oh! Poor Gilbert!"

Matthew heard, and keeping his fingers lightly entangled with Belle's reins, glanced over at the two children sat up with him.

He saw their direction of gaze and looked back at Gilbert. His eyes scanned the prostrate form and then noticed the source of the children's discomfort.

"Ah. Very well…"

With a click of his tongue, and a "whoa!" to Belle, he brought the cart to a stop.

"Anne" he said, turning to her decisively. "I want you to hop out here and run along to Dr Spencer's house, and ask him to join us at Green Gables as soon as he is able. Can you do that?"

Anne nodded furiously, "I can Matthew! I'll see you there!"

With that, she jumped down from the cart and ran ahead off Belle, before shooting off, down through an avenue of trees, in the direction of Dr Spencer's house.

Anne knew the path well, and moved quickly through the trees. Eventually arriving, out of breath and sweaty, at Dr Spencer's gate.

She took a moment to compose herself and adjusted her hat. She let herself through the gate and ran up to the front door. She rang the bell, then rapped hard with her knuckles, just for good measure.

The door was briskly opened by Mrs Spencer, who was wiping her hands on her apron. Her smile of greeting faded, as she saw Anne's solemn expression.

"Good day to you, Anne. What's amiss?"

Anne took off her hat and twisted the brim between her fingers.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you Ma'am, but is the doctor at home?"

Mrs Spencer nodded, "He is indeed, Anne. He's just taking some tea. Won't you come in?"

She stood back and held the door open, and Anne stepped into the hallway.

"Just go straight through to the parlour."

Anne followed Mrs Spencer's gesture and stepped into a side room. Sure enough, Dr Spencer was sat at a small table, with a teacup in one hand, and flicking through a newspaper with the other. He glanced up at the noise of her step.

"Ah, Miss Cuthbert. Are you well?"

Anne dipped a small curtsey, "I am quite well, thank you Doctor. But I must ask you to come to Green Gables as soon as you are able."

Dr Spencer raised his eyebrows, and immediately started to fold his newspaper.

"Of course. I can come now. Is it Matthew's heart? Or is Marilla having headaches again?"

Anne shook her head, "No, they are both well, Sir. It's… Gilbert Blythe."

Dr Spencer looked at her, puzzled, "Gilbert Blythe? Why is he at Green Gables? I thought he was living in his old father's house still, up near the church?"

Anne nodded, "He still does Sir. But… There was an incident at school today and Matthew is taking him and Cole both back to Green Gables. Just for now. Cole will be okay but Gilbert is bleeding and he can't walk so well, and…"

Dr Spencer cut her off, mid-sentence, with a raised hand.

"Very well Anne. But you say "incident". What incident? What has happened to Gilbert?"

Anne thought for a moment.

"Well Sir, it is a rather long, and complicated story. A story of sacrifice and noble actions for the protection and preservation of one's fellow man! It…"

"I'll have the basic version, if I may."

"Yes Sir. Well, it all started with Billy Andrews you see? He took Cole's clay and threw it at the window, but then the window got cracked you see? Mr Phillips said Cole's parents would have to pay for a new one, but they can't afford anything like that. So Mr Phillips said he'd punish Cole in a different way. So he switched Cole's hand and I think it really hurt him. He's got purple lines on his hand now, and Gilbert said that was because of the blood under his skin. But there was some blood on the floor as well. And anyway, when we went back into class, I think Gilbert must have been feeling quite angry, because he was rude to Mr Phillips. But when Mr Phillips went to switch HIM, Gilbert wouldn't put out his hand. So Mr Phillips grabbed COLE and started to beat him again. Gilbert stopped him and then took his place and then Mr Phillips switched him nine times. That's far too many! And then Matthew came in and took us out, and then we saw that Gilbert is bleeding where Mr Phillips whipped him. And Matthew told me it was probably best if I fetched you to come and have a look at Gilbert. So here I am!"

Anne took a deep breath, and gazed up expectantly at the doctor.

Dr Spencer pursed his lips for a moment, thinking.

"Very well, Anne. If there is blood, I'll come and take a look."


	6. Chapter 6 - Waiting

Anne waited in the hallway, impatient, as Dr Spencer gathered his coat, hat and medical bag, said goodbye to his wife and joined her to head out.

They headed for the barn, where his horse was waiting, already hooked up to a cart, thanks to his wife, who had sent one of their boys out to prepare it, once she heard the doctor was going to head over to Green Gables.

"I'll run ahead Doctor, and tell them you're coming!"

Dr Spencer frowned, "Nonsense! You'll ride with me. It's more than a mile and it'll be just as quick."

Grateful to save her legs, Anne nodded and climbed on board, settling herself next to the doctor.

Dr Spencer gave a click of his tongue to the horse, a quick flick of the reins and they pulled off.

"You say…" The doctor began, as they pulled out of the gate, "You say Mr Phillips gave him a switching? That's… within his rights to do so... If… if he feels it is necessary."

Anne scowled up at him. "I don't deny it Sir, certainly he can! And… I believe he was right to because Gilbert was so rude. But you surely don't think he has the right to draw blood, do you? And what about Cole?! It's not his fault his parents are poor!"

The doctor nodded slowly, "There's some truth in that no one can help being poor. I know Mr and Mrs McKenzie from church. They are decent, hard-working farmers. But…"

He shook his head decisively. "That's of no consequence right at this moment. Anne, I'm sure you'll appreciate, it is a doctor's role to judge no man. Or boy. Just to deal with whatever sickness or injury is placed before me. I will make no comment on your school teacher's actions, unless an officer, or court of law asks me to do so. Do you understand me?"

Anne nodded, "Yes Sir."

Just as Anne was climbing into the doctor's cart, Matthew was bringing the cart through the gate of Green Gables. Jerry had held it open for him, surprised to see Cole McKenzie sitting up, next to Mr Cuthbert, on the bench.

Marilla, meanwhile, had been watching out for Matthew's return, with an increasing sense of unease. She'd sent him out nearly two hours ago to fetch grain from the local store, yet he had been gone far too long.

As soon as she heard the clattering of the horse's tackle, she'd breathed a sigh of relief, wiped her hands quickly on a cloth, and went out to the porch.

She watched, in increasing bemusement as the cart approached, eventually recognising the slim figure of Cole, perched up next to Matthew. She stepped down from the porch and went to the side of the cart.

"Good afternoon, Cole. What brings you here? Where's Anne?"

Matthew jumped down from the bench, throwing the reins to Jerry.

"I dropped her off to summon the doctor. I hope they will both be here directly."

Marilla clutched at her chest, "The doctor?! Whatever for? Are you ill? What on Earth has happened?!"

She looked between Matthew and Cole, waiting for an answer. Her eyes scanned Cole and she noticed the scarf, still tied around his hand.

"Did you hurt your hand, Cole? Why didn't you go straight home?"

Cole glanced at Matthew, and then at Gilbert, who Marilla couldn't see from where she stood.

Matthew shrugged, "He's not the only one I've brought back here."

He leaned over the edge of cart, to look down at Gilbert. Marilla rushed to join him, craning to her full height to see over the lip of the cart edge.

"By all that's holy!" She exclaimed. "Gilbert Blythe! What in heavens are you doing?!"

Meanwhile, Gilbert had opened his eyes, disturbed by the commotion.

"Good afternoon, Miss Cuthbert." He whispered.

Marilla stared down at him, her brow furrowed, until she saw the blood on his pants, and her hand flew to her mouth in shock.

"By all the saints… Poor child…"

She rounded on Matthew. "Matthew! Carry him inside! Lay him on the table. Jerry! Go and wait at the gate. As soon as you see the doctor, be ready to let him straight in and tend to his horse!"

Jerry nodded, eager to help, "Of course, Miss Cuthbert!"

Matthew, meanwhile, was opening the back of the cart and gathering Gilbert in his arms. Gilbert was nearly seventeen, and no small child any longer. But Matthew was a full-grown man, with many hard years of heavy work behind him. He lifted Gilbert as if he weighed no more than an infant.

Marilla stood, anxiously watching, as Gilbert was gathered up and carried in. She bustled in behind them, watching Matthew's every move.

"Careful! Mind his head there! Here! Put him here!"

She rushed forward and swiftly removed a candlestick and a cloth from the table. She stood back and watched nervously as Matthew gently laid Gilbert face down, onto the table. Cole hovered nearby, watching.

Gilbert laid his head in his arms and, muffled through the fabric, said "I'm really very sorry about this. Just a minute or two, and then I'll be on my way."

"Nonsense!" Marilla exclaimed, awkwardly tousling his dark hair.

"You're clearly hurt and the doctor has been summoned."

"The doctor…?" Gilbert lifted his head a fraction and peered up at the Cuthbert siblings, who were both staring down at him. "Why?"

"Quiet now, lad." Said Matthew, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

"Marilla?" Matthew asked, turning to his sister, "Perhaps you might go and… See how Jerry is getting along? Check if the doctor is in sight yet?"

"Stuff and nonsense Matthew!" She exclaimed. Then she realised. Time and time again, over the past year, she had dismissed Matthew from the room, whenever she needed to have a "women's talk" with Anne. Now Matthew intended to do the same with Gilbert.

She blushed, "Ah yes… Perhaps… I'll just go and check. Cole. You come." She turned and marched out of the house, beckoning Cole with her, then closing the door firmly behind them.

In the sudden vacuum of silence left behind, Matthew felt faintly embarrassed. His life nowadays seemed over-run with children. First there had been Anne, then Jerry, and now Gilbert and Cole. After it being so many years of just him and Marilla… and now having young people look to him for guidance… It was a role he was not yet used to.

Matthew coughed. A nervous habit of his, that was often a prelude to saying whatever was on his mind.

"We've called the doctor, Gilbert. You seem to be injured."

Gilbert, with his head resting on his arms again, nodded slightly, "I imagine so. I'm afraid I rather lost count after seven… He made Cole bleed… Am I bleeding?"

Matthew nodded, "Yes lad."

Gilbert shrugged, resigned. "And so the doctor is coming to take a look?"

Gilbert turned his face to Matthew, his bottom lip faintly quivering.

"I shouldn't have spoken to Mr Phillips like that! What he did to Cole! It was my fault!"

Matthew laid a light hand on Gilbert's shoulder, "And Cole will live to see another day. 2 smacks, through his britches, and then he sat in my cart, no trouble. He'll be fine in a day or two."

"But his hand as well…"

"… It will heal, lad. Don't be vexed."

Gilbert lay back, his eyes flicking around the room, somewhat calmer, but still something obviously on his mind.

"Will the doctor need to look at me?"

Matthew frowned, "Yes… That's why he has been called."

Gilbert shook his head, "Will I need to… show him?"

Matthew knew then what concerned him and chuckled briefly under his breath.

"Anne… and Miss Cuthbert… will both wait outside. It'll be just us men. Don't worry."

Gilbert closed his eyes, and seemed more content. Matthew pulled up a chair next to Gilbert, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He knew that a gentle touch could easily calm an anxious and disturbed horse. And he saw no reason why it should not work with young boys also.


	7. Chapter 7 - Reflections

"There! Miss Cuthbert! I see them!"

Jerry stood up on the lowest rail of the fence and pointed into the distance.

Craning to look, Marilla and Cole could just see a cart approaching, carrying a man and a girl.

"Oh, at last!" Marilla muttered under her breath, rushing to open the gate.

A minute or two later, the cart swept into the yard and came to a halt just inside. Anne jumped down and ran straight into Marilla's arms.

"I've brought the doctor Marilla! How is Gilbert?"

"There, there, child. Gilbert is inside with Matthew. I'm sure he's just fine. Doctor? If you'd like to go in?"

The doctor tipped his hat and collected his bag. "Thank you Miss Cuthbert. I'll go right in and see what's to do."

Anne went to trail after him, but Marilla held her back. Anne looked up at her, questioning.

"Leave them be, child. Just for now. Gilbert needs his examination in private. Doctor will tell us when we can go in."

Frustrated, Anne leaned back on the gate and looked over at Cole.

"How are you Cole? I'm sorry… I should have asked you since… You know."

Marilla decided then it was time to leave them be, just for a few moments. With a nod to Jerry, she took hold of the doctor's horse, and led her off to stable her with their own two. She didn't expect the doctor to be too long, but she might as well see that the horse got a drink and a brush-down.

Cole stood for a moment, as if mentally assessing his various wounds. Then he smiled, just a little.

"Perhaps… Maybe my pride is hurt more…"

Anne nodded, she could see why that might be true.

They stood together, for a few moments, in silence. Each thinking their own thoughts.

"What's it like?" Anne suddenly asked.

"What's what like?" Cole replied, turning to her quizzically.

Anne was suddenly embarrassed, was this too personal?

"What's it like, being switched like that in front of everyone? I mean, don't get me wrong, I had many beatings from Mr Hammond's belt when I lived with them, but there wasn't an audience. I didn't like it one bit!"

Cole thought for a moment, "I don't think I thought much about what others would think… While it was happening… I guess… I guess I was thinking about me. And I saw you. You helped me."

Anne was picking at the gate with a fingernail, and then stopped, "I helped you?"

Cole nodded, "You did. When it got to four or five, I could read the look on your face. It was kind. I could imagine you were telling me to be brave."

Anne said nothing, she just returned to picking at the gate. Cole turned, leaning his elbows on the cross bar, gazing out over the field.

"It's not like other pain I've felt, you know… Like you, I've felt my fair share of belts." He grimaced, and Anne glanced at him, sympathetic. She hadn't known that, but it wasn't uncommon. In some ways… It felt nice to have a shared experience in adversity.

"It's different to… that. Today, it was more like a hot poker from the fire, being pushed against my skin. At first… you feel nothing. Then it just seems to explode in the middle of your brain. And then get worse and worse and you think you're on fire. And then another cut comes, and…" He trailed off.

"It builds and builds, until all you can do is scream?" Anne suggested.

Cole shrugged, "Something like that."

Then there was silence.

As they stood in the quiet of the farmyard together, reflecting on the day, Cole started to feel angry. It just burst over him, like a sudden rain storm. He kicked the gate, and slapped it with his good hand. Anne jumped back, surprised.

"I didn't want to scream Anne! I didn't! I also didn't want to be dragged from my seat and whipped across the behind like a five-year-old! I'm fourteen years old! I was humiliated!"

"Oh Cole…" Anne whispered, lightly touching his back. "You didn't have any control over that. You were already in pain, you couldn't fight back. And… It happened to Gilbert as well…"

"But Gilbert didn't wail like a baby after only two! He took nine and didn't make a sound the whole time!"

Anne could feel her eyes starting to fill with tears. She hated to see her friend hurt and angry like this.

"Cole… He's older than you, and he was ready for it. He accepted it. And he wasn't already hurt."

Cole rounded on her and shrieked, "I DON'T CARE!"

Marilla, still in the barn with Jerry, heard the angry shout and stuck her head out, just in time to see Cole furiously opening the gate and dashing off across the field.

She hurried out, "COLE! Don't you want Dr Spencer to take a look at your hand?!"

Cole didn't even glance back. "COLE!"

Marilla came towards Anne, who was holding the open gate, and staring after the rapidly disappearing Cole with bemusement.

"What, in mercies name, just happened?!"

Anne looked up at Marilla, confusion etched across her face. "We were just talking… And he ran off."

"What could you have possibly been talking about?"

Anne shrugged and scuffed her feet in the soil. "Nothing of any importance Marilla. Just… what happened at school."

Marilla looked across the field, just in time to see Cole disappearing under the trees, and sighed.

"I think you should probably come and sit on the porch with me, and explain everything that has gone on today. Leave NOTHING out. I want to know exactly WHY I've got the doctor in my kitchen, seeing to one boy with blood seeping through a decent pair of britches, and another running through the fields, with a bandaged hand, screaming hell and damnation at you."

Anne sighed, and let Marilla lead her to the bench. She would talk.


	8. Chapter 8 - Care

As Marilla knew, no one could spin a fairly succinct tale into an epic, quite like Anne Shirley-Cuthbert could. She made herself as comfortable as she could, arranging her skirts around her and prepared to listen.

Whilst Marilla and Anne were talking on the porch, Dr Spencer and Matthew were gazing down at Gilbert, who was still face down on the table. The doctor had washed his hands in the sink, and was rolling up the cuffs of his jacket and shirt.

"Well, Mr Blythe, it's been a goodly time since I last saw you. It must have been when…"

"When my father was dying." Gilbert muttered, his voice muffled in his sleeve.

The doctor flushed. It didn't always do to remind a person of a traumatic time.

"Ah. Yes. Well, I must say, I'm puzzled to see you in this state. Miss Anne told me a little of your to-doings, and frankly, I'm a little surprised that this happened at all. I'd always had the impression you were a sensible lad. And now look at you. Nearly a man grown, yet still clearly deserving of your school master's right arm."

Gilbert ignored him. He just glowered into his sleeve.

Matthew shuffled his feet and awkwardly patted Gilbert's arm. "I think there might have been more to it than just a bit of boyish misbehaviour doctor… Granted, I'm no expert in boys, but this seems excessive."

The doctor huffed. "Perhaps you are right, Matthew. Perhaps so… May I ask? How did you come to end up with the boy here?"

Matthew paused for a long second… He'd gone out for grain – which he'd forgotten… Marilla was sure to ask this very same question… But maybe the doctor and Marilla wouldn't talk, so he could tell the doctor a half-truth. But Marilla would know why he was there… He'd never hidden anything from her. She'd ask a few small questions, and then she'd know…

"Oh, I was getting grain from the store, and Marilla asked me to drop off a lunch basket to Anne. The silly child walked off without it this morning! And then… All this was going on. Right place, right time."

The doctor shrugged and nodded, then gestured down at Gilbert, "So… Based on the state of his britches, which will need a good soak in COLD water first if there's to be any chance at all of salvaging them and getting the blood out… Perhaps the school master did get a bit carried away... Anyway, I think the best thing to do is to take a look… Right then Mr Blythe, if you could manage to lift your hips a fraction…"

Gilbert was cringing with embarrassment and kept his head down. He lifted his hips, as instructed, and felt cool fingers hook in the waistband and start to ease his pants downwards.

He head flew up and he shrieked with shock and pain.

"Christ have mercy!" The doctor let out, and quickly let go.

"They're stuck to his skin. The blood has dried rock solid… We'll have to soak them off him. Matthew, do you have a bucket? We'll need a bucket of warm water."

"Warm water? Ah, yes. There'll be hot in the kettle. I can mix it."

"Do." The doctor nodded. "We don't want to add burns to the list of things we're dealing with here."

The whole operation paused awkwardly, while Matthew bustled around, fetching the kettle and pouring what remained of the contents into a bucket, then mixing it with cold from the pump.

Armed with the bucket, and a cloth, he returned to the table, and offered it all to Doctor Spencer.

The doctor held the bucket, and seemed unsure. After a moment, he nodded to himself decisively, and swiftly emptied the entire contents of the bucket over Gilbert's backside.

The doctor and Matthew quickly stepped back, as the bulk of the water sloshed off Gilbert and straight onto the table, and then the floor. Matthew couldn't help but think that Marilla was not going to be thrilled to come back in and find her floor sodden, and worse, the kettle empty of hot water.

The doctor surveyed the chaos he'd just caused, and glanced at his watch.

"We'll wait a moment or two and let the water get through the fabric."

Matthew and the doctor stood awkwardly. How does one make polite small talk whilst standing in a large puddle of water, in your shirt sleeves, with a soaking wet body lying on a table before you?

The doctor broke the silence. "I think we'll try that again now… Mr Blythe, just try lifting your hips for me again, if you could. There's a good fellow…"

Gilbert did as instructed and the doctor was able to hook his fingers between Gilbert's skin and the sodden fabric. Then slowly, inch by inch, he was able to ease the fabric away and lower his pants down to his thighs.

Matthew didn't know where to look at first, but the doctor leaned over and peered down, with an air of medical interest.

"Hand me the cloth, if you would."

Matthew hurriedly located the cloth and passed it over to the doctor.

The doctor wetted it in a puddle that had accumulated on the table and gently began to wipe away some of the red-tinged water from Gilbert's skin. His other hand resting, soothingly, at the base of Gilbert's spine, his thumb idly drawing little circles. It was such a soft, gentle gesture, that anyone could see that the doctor did have some sympathy for the boy.

Matthew found himself staring with morbid curiosity. It was savagery what he saw before him.

Once some of the blood had been carefully washed away by the doctor, other colours came to light. Matthew could easily count nine raised and scratched purple ridges flayed across Gilbert's rump, coloured in-between, as they were, with various other shades of blue, purple and blood-red.

Where some stripes had crossed each other, the skin had split apart, which would have been what caused the bleeding.

"Quite the colourful palate you've got yourself down here, Mr Blythe." Dr Spencer remarked, very gently running a finger down one of the ridges, causing Gilbert to hiss through his teeth.

"However. Good news." The doctor continued, "While I'm not surprised there was some bleeding, there is little to be done apart from bed rest and cold compresses. While I can safely say you won't be riding up on any horses for a few weeks, it'll heal in due course. No permanent damage, I wouldn't have thought."

He turned to Matthew.

"Mr Cuthbert, perhaps you could manage to find some britches, or a night-gown, the lad could wear…? Would he be able to stay here with you for a few days? I'm loathe to send him off home in this state. He'll need to be resting… On his front, I'd imagine."

"Ah… Yes… I can find him something. I'll have to ask Marilla of course, if there's room for him to stay, because it's…"

"I'll go home." Gilbert suddenly announced, pushing the top half of his body from the table, with a visible effort. "I've no desire to inconvenience you, Mr Cuthbert. Or Miss Cuthbert. But I would appreciate the loan of something to wear."

"Don't talk daft, lad. I was about to say that our spare room has Marilla's sewing things in it presently, and the bed isn't made up. But I'm sure that can be seen to."

"There you go lad," said the doctor, giving Gilbert a slight push back down onto the table. "It's all settled. You'll stay some days with the Cuthbert's. Just until you're fit to mind yourself again."

The doctor moved away, and went to wash his hands in the sink. Matthew leaned down and whispered to Gilbert.

"I'll just get you something to slip on. It'll be no trouble to have you here. And I'm sure Anne will be pleased. She likes to play the nurse."

"I don't want her seeing me! Please! I'm ashamed!"

Matthew chuckled, "She won't. But I know she'll be pleased you're here. You just lie here a moment, and I'll help you dress before the womenfolk come in."

Gilbert sighed and nodded, "Thank you Mr Cuthbert. I do appreciate it."

Gilbert rested his head on his arms, and peered sideways up at Matthew.

"What can I wear?"

"Ah, yes. Let me think… Doctor? Would you mind staying a moment, with Gilbert, while I find something?"

Dr Spencer looked back over his shoulder, from the sink. "Ah, yes Matthew. No hurry. I'll be a few moments longer yet."

Matthew patted Gilbert on the shoulder, and moved towards the stairs.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Matthew goes in search of clothing for Gilbert. During his search, he finds something from his own childhood. Something that starts to explain why Matthew may feel duty-bound to care for Gilbert.


	9. Chapter 9 - History

Matthew's mind was racing as he made his way up the stairs and towards his own bedroom. He had in mind what the lad could wear, although he was unsure whether Marilla would approve, or think that he had lost his mind.

Shutting the bedroom door behind himself, as silently as he could, Matthew made his way to his closet and pulled a large wooden chest from the floor, which was pushed right back against the wall, and mostly hidden by pairs of pants and jackets.

He knew Marilla had a similar box of items from her youth, and he had never thought it right to look through her chest, as he knew she would have never dreamed of looking through his.

The clasps on the chest were stiff with age and lack of use. With considerable effort, Matthew was able to flick them open and lift the lid. The hinges at the back gave a loud squeak, and Matthew attempted to make a mental note to oil them when he next got a moment.

Settling himself on the floor as best he could (sitting on the ground was something he rarely did at his age), he pulled the chest still further forward and began to examine the contents.

On the top were a few books. Their leather covers cracked and darkened with age. Matthew smiled to himself as he read the title 'St Irvyne', a book which has been his favourite, and he opened the front cover.

To my dearest brother Matthew,

On the occasion of your tenth birthday. October 27th 1810.

Your loving brother,

Michael.

Matthew ran his finger lightly over the name 'Michael'. Slowly tracing the letters as if he were writing them himself. He remembered the day he was given this book. Michael, just two years older, had been so pleased to present his younger brother with a gift. Matthew remembered Michael bouncing into the room, the book was tucked under his arm and wrapped in a sheet of newspaper. He had burst into tears of excitement, as he'd watched Matthew, who was slowly stuttering through reading the inscription, awkward, and feeling painfully embarrassed.

Matthew carefully closed the book and laid it to one side. Then his eye was drawn to another book in the chest. One that was even older. To begin with, this book hadn't even been his. It had been both Michael's and Marilla's, before it was his.

When Matthew opened the book and read the inscription, it still made him smile. He recognised the slow, careful handwriting of his father. His father, who hated and struggled so much with writing... To have written anything for his child, would have shown them so much love. It was full of spelling errors, but the meaning and the love was still there.

To my deer Marilla,

I hope fis book is help-full to you in yor studees.

With all my lov,

Yor defoted Father.

Matthew held the book for a long moment, just looking at the inscription. It was a rare thing, to have something written by his father, that he wanted to hold it just a minute more.

Unconsciously, he found himself flicking through the dry, brittle pages. The book was a simple one, just page after page of exercises to help a child to learn their letters. Some of the pages were marked by pencil, as one child or another had attempted to follow the lessons on the page.

Matthew could easily tell which exercises had been completed by his two older siblings. They were uniform in style and neatness. He was also able to tell which tasks he had worked on. There were very few, because writing had been such a trial to him as a child. But those that were there were large, scrawling and riddled with errors. The contrast between the penmanship of the three Cuthbert children was staggering.

With a sense of his old anxieties creeping back, summoned both by the scenes in the school room, and the exercise book, Matthew put the book aside and continued to feel through the box. He knew what it was he wanted, and he would know it when his hand fell upon it.

Sure enough, after a moment or two of rummaging, Matthew's hand fell onto a cool, soft fabric. He took a better hold, and pulled it up through the layers and out of the chest.

It was an old, thick men's work shirt, and it was ridiculously large. There was a faint checked pattern of blue squares, with large white buttons down the front. It had belonged to Matthew's father, and it had been the shirt he had met his future wife in for the first time.

He had rarely been a sentimental man, but this shirt was his one nod to what his wife meant to him. And so, for all the rest of his life, he had kept this shirt and often told the children of its significance. Often with his wife, the children's mother, standing over his shoulder with a slight smile, and calling him "a silly old romantic."

After he had died, Matthew had taken the shirt from his room, and placed it in his chest. No one else in the family ever commented, or asked its location, so Matthew had never shared it. In later years, he had worn it a few times, but it was far too large, even for him. And each time he'd worn it, Marilla had called him a fool.

This would be the perfect item for Gilbert to wear during his recovery. It would be more than long enough to act like a night shirt on him. The fabric was worn and soft enough not to aggravate or compress his injuries, and the thickness of it would keep him warm at night.

Matthew folded the shirt and placed it to one side. He carefully repacked the books and closed the lid of the chest, before pushing it far back, into the dark recesses of his closet.

Awkwardly levering himself from the ground, Matthew stood, picked up the shirt, and left the room.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER:

The story jumps back a couple of hours to see WHY Matthew was at the school house, and what caused him to come to Gilbert's defense.


	10. Chapter 10 - This Memory Whistles

EARLIER THAT DAY

Matthew pulled his jacket a little tighter around his chest, and attempted to pull his hands back into his sleeves a little more. It was October and the air was getting cooler. He clicked his tongue at Belle and she pulled a little harder on the cart.

It was past the mid-day hour now and Matthew was keen to get to the store, collect the grain Marilla had asked for, and return home for some lunch, before he continued with his afternoon tasks. He also knew, that if he left the trip to the store too late in the day, it would be packed with children from the school, full of joy that their school day had ended, and keen to look at the candies they would buy. If they had the money. He'd also have to wait an age to be served, and Mr Willard behind the counter would be fretful and agitated as he watched the children stampede around his store.

Matthew considered his route. None of the heavy fall rains had come yet, so the ground was still dry and passable. Perhaps then, he would take the cart along the track that ran by the school.

The school track, which was far too soft for a wagon in November through to April, meant that at the right time of year, when the weather was good, he could cut his journey by a near half.

His decision made, he turned off his usual road, causing Belle to huff with surprise, and guided her with the reins to the school track.

As the white-washed, wooden building came into view, he naturally found himself slowing. The school looked no different from the outside, from when he had attended the same school as a boy. His time there had been far from joyous. He may have gone as far to say that he hated every moment of it. And every time he passed it by, the memories returned, slowing his travel, as he bathed in the recollections, feeling them washing over him. Whether they were welcome or not.

As he approached, he could see the heads of the children at their desks, through the window. All of them were facing the front towards where, Matthew imagined, their teacher was stood, delivering a lesson.

Matthew watched the heads of the children for a moment. None moved an inch, and Matthew admired any man who could hold the attention of a class so firmly.

There was a slight glimmer of movement in a window about halfway down the length of the room. Matthew found himself craning to look. He recognised the Blythe boy, who was moving increasingly quickly towards the front of the class. Perhaps summoned to complete a task on the board?

Without being especially aware, Matthew had slowed Belle to a very gentle walk. He was too lost in his own thoughts and memories of his own miserable school days. As well as having a slight curiosity as too what might be happening in that room today, virtually fifty years later.

In the meantime, Belle had lost interest in the slow amble, and had come to a complete stop. She flicked her ears back, listening for a command from her owner, and when none came, she leaned her head down, to nibble the late summer grass at her feet.

"Hungry are you, my pet?" Matthew murmured, faintly aware of the pull from the reins as Belle bent her head. Willingly, he let the leather feed through his fingers as he let her have her head. His hurry was less now, after all. The class were clearly still in session, and he'd gained time through using this fair-weather shortcut.

Idly, Matthew looked down over Belle's head, listening to the sharp clack of her teeth as she bit and pulled the grass.

Mildly hypnotised by the repetitive and familiar sound, it took a moment for another sound to enter his thoughts. The sound had been very quick and distant. Yet there was something about it that flicked at his memory. This sound had an association that somewhere, deep in his belly, made him suddenly anxious.

Tuned in now, and feeling suddenly quite inexplicably nauseous, Matthew listened harder. Perhaps the sound would come again? And it did. It came very quickly after the first, only a mere five or six seconds later.

Matthew felt like he knew the sound. It was familiar, but he felt like it was a sound he had only known long ago. Perhaps from when he was just a child himself. The second time he heard it, it seemed to flick at him even harder than the first time. Like it was shouting at him, "Listen to me! You know me! You should be listening!" Matthew just couldn't bring to mind what the sound was, but he knew it made him feel chilled to the core. And there was fear there. Deep, cold fear.

Confused by his own reaction, Matthew sat still and listened hard. Perhaps if he heard the sound again, he would be better able to place it? Whose farm was nearby? Perhaps he was hearing some old machinery from his father's era, which still had a role to play on some of the poorer farms. There was that new family over the hill. The Mackenzie's. Matthew had seen the oldest boy with Anne a couple of times, and he had that look. The look of a growing boy, who never gets quite enough to eat. He remembered boys like that from his own school days. Even 50 years later, times weren't so different.

Then the sound came again, and again, and again.

Matthew immediately knew the sound. He knew it well. It may be 50 years, but some memories never die.

With no plan and little conscious awareness of what he was doing, Matthew jumped down from the cart and started to run towards the steps leading up to the school room door.

The sound was continuing and was louder than before. Matthew felt sick in his core. He knew he was right about the sound.

He took the steps two at a time and opened the door.

As one, every single head turned to stare at him. Shock and panic were etched across many of the young faces. Matthew felt his eyes immediately scan for Anne, he had to know she was safe. Fortunately, he was able to quickly locate her, in a corner, huddled with the Mackenzie boy.

Then Matthew's eyes were drawn to the front of the room, to rest upon a familiar scene. Matthew frowned. He thought he saw his own childhood face in the face of the boy bent over the desk at the front of the class. Matthew blinked rapidly and his own memories raced away. This time, it wasn't him in that position. It certainly had been, in the past. But this wasn't 50 years ago any longer. It was now. And in the "now", it was the Blythe boy.

The boy who had no father to defend him.

Matthew had been lucky. When his father had realised what was happening to him, he put a stop to it by removing him from school. Now the man, who had once been the boy, would put a stop to it also.

He looked steadfastly at the scene before him. His eyes flicking between the switch, the school master, and the Blythe boy. Matthew considered his next his next steps.

"I think you should let the boy up now, eh? I think he's learnt his lesson."

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER:

Back at Green Gables, Doctor Spencer and Matthew begin to share some recollections from years gone by, and Gilbert and Anne have their first chance to talk in private about what has happened.


	11. Chapter 11 - Awkward Reunion

BACK AT GREEN GABLES

With the shirt draped carefully over his arm, Matthew made his way back down the stairs, looking over the banister.

In his absence, the doctor had clearly helped Gilbert up from the table, and was supporting him with a hand under his elbow, as Gilbert bent to remove his boots.

Matthew coughed, "Here we go, lad. How about you slip into the parlour and change? I'll wait out here."

He shook out the shirt and handed it over to Gilbert. Gilbert silently took the offered shirt, and clutching both boots, and his already-discarded clothing, hobbled through the kitchen and out of sight.

The doctor clapped his hands together and sucked his teeth.

"Well, Matthew… Boys will be boys, eh? I should probably be off home now. There may be other cases waiting for me at home, and the wife will be wanting to give me my meal at some point before dark."

The doctor started to collect his coat and hat from a chair by the door and began to make his leave.

"Thank you for attending so promptly doctor. It was a shock to see him like that… I'm sure you know."

Dr Spencer paused in his attempts to get his arm into his jacket sleeve and glanced at Matthew, his face suddenly solemn.

"Fifty years ago sometimes doesn't feel so long ago, does it Matthew? I remember our own days in that school room… I suspect we all do."

Matthew nodded, and reached out to shake the doctor's hand. Their eyes locked for a second, and then the doctor was gone.

Matthew stood in the suddenly silent kitchen. He could hear the voices of Marilla, Anne and the doctor, just outside the door. The higher-pitched voices of the women were questioning, sounding anxious. He could hear the doctor speaking to them in lower, placating tones. The doctor was right, Gilbert would recover after a time.

He glanced around the kitchen, looking at the disarray caused by Gilbert's sudden arrival. The chairs were all out from under the table, dotted around the place at odd angles. The bucket the doctor had used had been kicked under the table, and the kettle from the hearth was still standing in the sink. But, Matthew noted, with some relief, the water all over the floor was drying rapidly. Just a few odd puddles remained.

Matthew was just beginning to straighten the chairs, when the outside door opened with a clatter, and Anne burst through it.

"Where's Gilbert? The doctor said I could see him?"

Matthew put out a hand to steady her. "Wait a moment. He's changing his clothes in the parlour."

Without really thinking about it, Anne craned her neck to peer around the corner, but Gilbert was clearly tucked out of sight.

"Just wait, Anne."

The door clattered again and Marilla entered. Without saying a word, her eyes cast around the room, absorbing the general disorder. With a slight sigh, she bent and retrieved the bucket from under the table, placing it by the sink. She rolled her eyes when she saw the kettle was empty and silently re-filled it, before hanging it back on its hook over the fire.

Anne was straightening the chairs, chatting away as usual, but with her voicing sounding higher-pitched and anxious.

"I mean, it was terribly lucky when Matthew appeared when he did! I think Mr Phillips might have beaten every single one of us to death if Matthew hadn't appeared! I can picture the funerals now… The church services… The flowers… Oh, perhaps all the families would have been so mournful they'd have decided to bury us all in one grave together! They'd have dressed us in suits and dresses made of silk! Perhaps I'd have had a crown of late summer flowers… How lovely it would have been!"

"Anne!" Marilla scolded, glancing at Matthew. "Never say such things! Nothing like that should ever be spoken of!"

Anne ran to Marilla and threw her arms around her waist, "Oh Marilla! I was just imagining! Something so mournful and tragical could have looked so beautiful! As well as being a gift to the imagination!"

"Miss Cuthbert is right, Anne. You shouldn't joke."

The three Cuthbert's spun round at the voice. Gilbert was leaning awkwardly on the wall between the kitchen and the parlour. His clothes bundled awkwardly in his arms, his boots hanging from his fingers. He was dressed in the old shirt, which came almost to his knees.

Marilla broke away from Anne's embrace and went to Gilbert. "Perhaps I could take those britches of yours? I'm sure I can soak some of the stains out."

Gilbert nodded and let her take them, "Thank you Miss Cuthbert. I appreciate you and Mr Cuthbert agreeing to let me stay for a few days."

Flicking a quick glance at Matthew, Marilla didn't miss a beat. "Of course. It's no trouble. If you give me five minutes, I'll go and set up the bed in my sewing room. Anne? Perhaps you could make Gilbert comfortable in the parlour with a cup of tea?"

Anne nodded silently, her eyes fixed on Gilbert and opening roaming up and down his body. Gilbert saw her frank stare and glared at her, blushing slightly.

"I'll… ahem… fix the tea. Anne? Get Gilbert settled, eh?" Matthew prompted her, giving her a slight push between the shoulder blades, in Gilbert's direction.

Anne moved to Gilbert's side and took his arm. Still carrying his boots and other clothing, Gilbert let Anne lead him back into the parlour. Anne let go, and busied herself, arranging cushions and blankets for Gilbert to sit on. He stood and watched her doubtfully.

"I'm not sure Anne. I'm… pretty sore."

Anne didn't look up, "Oh, nonsense Gilbert! Doctor Spencer says you have some nasty bruises, but they'll fade in a day or two!"

Gilbert said nothing and Anne glanced back at him. He was staring at her. His face read something between anger and sadness. As their gaze met, Gilbert looked to the floor and muttered something low and quiet under his breath.

"What?"

There was a long pause, Gilbert glanced up at her, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears, which he furiously brushed away.

"Why did I do that, Anne?"

Anne said nothing. She took a step towards Gilbert, then stopped.

Gilbert shook his head, as if trying to dislodge water from his ears.

"Now I'll be a laughing stock. Every person in the whole town will know by now… Even the adults will be talking about it in the street. They'll be saying, "Did you hear about Gilbert Blythe? He was disrespectful to the teacher and let another boy take the punishment! Shameful!"" Gilbert mimicked the snooty voices of some of the women in the town, tossing his head in pretend disgust.

"What are you talking about Gilbert? You didn't let Cole take it for you! Mr Phillips was hurting him and you stopped it and took his place! What happened to Cole wasn't your fault!"

Gilbert threw his boots down in frustration, "But it still happened, Anne! And of course it was my fault! He beat Cole because I refused to let him hit me! I do not need younger boys to take any sort of punishment on my behalf!"

Anne went to Gilbert and laid a hand on his arm, "But no one who was there will remember it like that. You stood up to Mr Phillips because he's vile and hateful. And because he couldn't bully you, he turned to Cole. You sacrificed yourself to save Cole. It was… noble."

Gilbert fell quiet, "I'm not sure Cole would feel that way about it. But… Mr Cuthbert said Cole would be fine?"

Anne nodded, thinking it was probably best not to mention Cole's outburst by the gate, or the fact that he'd run off.

"I spoke to Cole. He'll be just fine."

Gilbert just nodded shortly, and they stood together, silent and a touch awkward, until Matthew came in with tea.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER:

Cole has made his way home and re-joins his family. He cares for his baby sisters and then has to deliver some food to his father. His father sees the injuries to Cole's hand, and reacts in a most unexpected way.


	12. Chapter 12 - You Have My Heart

THE MACKENZIE FARM

Cole was out of breath and sweating slightly. He'd run off his anger with Anne pretty quickly, and he was barely even angry with himself any more. His anger had gradually ebbed away, as had the throbbing in his hand, and the fact that the running had caused his pants to rub awkwardly on his still-sore behind.

He found that he was more concerned about what his parents were going to say to him when he arrived home. They'd notice something was wrong as soon as they looked at him. He'd have to be careful what he said about what had happened. Cole knew that if his father was in a temper after a hard day of work on the farm, then he was probably going to lash out at someone. And Cole certainly wasn't feeling up to it being his turn.

He slowed himself as he approached the farm gate, taking a moment just to catch his breath and compose himself. He unhitched the gate and sauntered up to the house as if he had no cares in the world. He opened the kitchen door to see his two little sisters sat up at the table eating bread and jam.

"Cole? Is that you back?" His mother called from elsewhere in the house.

"Yes!" Cole called back.

"Please just clean up your sisters… I'm just sorting out the baby… and you see that basket on the side? It's some sandwiches for your father. He's staying late at Mr Jenkins' place to help him fix his cart. Run it over to him please!"

Cole glanced around, and sure enough, there was a small basket by the sink, with a chequered cloth over it.

"Yes Mother!"

Cole took a wet cloth from the sink and took it over to his sisters. Mary and Margaret were five and three. Babies.

"Hello monkeys!" Cole grinned at them, "Let me wipe your hands."

He sat down at the chair next to Mary, wincing slightly, and took hold of her wrist. Mary gazed at his bandaged hand thoughtfully.

"What's that?" She asked, tapping his bandaged hand with her free one.

Cole pulled away slightly, "Careful, monkey. It's a bit sore."

Mary pouted at him, "Did a horsey bite it? Mr Jenkins' horse bit Papa yesterday. Bad horsey!" She giggled and mimed slapping an invisible horse on the nose.

Cole chuckled and continued wiping the jam from her fingers and around her mouth.

"You think it was a horsey do you? What a naughty horse that would be!"

Mary laughed and clambered down from her chair. Cole reached over the space to clean Margaret. As he tried to clean between her tiny fingers, she wiggled and squirmed. Whining at him and trying to get away.

"Hush, Margaret! Stop it, or mama will tell you off!"

The toddler started to cry, "I don't wanna!"

"I'm just trying to clean you up! Don't be rude!"

"Coley rude!"

"Stop that noise down there!" Cole's mother called down from the top of the stairs.

"I'm trying to get the baby off for a nap! If that's Margaret, I swear… If she keeps up, Cole, give her a smack and put her outside on the porch! Enough already!"

Cole stood up and came behind Margaret, scooping her up off the chair and holding her in his arms. She snuffled a bit, and buried her face in his chest.

"You hear that, little monkey? If you keep being so loud, I'll have to give you a smack and put you outside. You don't want that, do you?"

The little girl threw her pudgy arms around Cole's neck, "No smack Coley…" Then she yawned. She was just tired. Cole knew that when Margaret got tired, she got rude and bad-tempered. He had practically raised the little girl from birth. He knew her funny little ways.

Cole shifted her to his hip, so that he could carry her one handed and patted her little backside gently. "Then you need to be a good girl, don't you?"

He felt his little sister lay her head on his shoulder and nod. He tickled the back of her neck and she giggled and hunched her shoulders.

"Alright then. That's better."

He gestured to Mary to follow and carried Margaret through to the parlour. Settling her down on the floor with a blanket, he found two rag dolls for the girls to play with, and left them there.

Leaving the two little ones playing on the floor, Cole returned to the kitchen, picked up the basket of food for his father, and left the house.

It was no distance to Mr Jenkins' farm. It was the next one over from their own property. Cole found that he was feeling more positive. The interaction with his little sisters, even though he'd had to tell Margaret off, had distracted him.

He felt a particularly close bond with little Margaret. Their mother had been very ill after she was born and so was unable to care for her new baby. Their father had been busy with the farm, so it had fallen to Cole, only barely twelve years old at the time, to feed, change, wash and generally care for a tiny newborn and a three year old. With a sick mother and mostly absent father, Cole had been father and mother to two tiny little girls. He loved them with all of his being. He would do anything for them, including doling out the odd little smack here and there, to save them from much worse from their father. Something he hated to do, because they always cried and begged him not to, but he thought they would probably prefer him to do it with a gentle hand, than their father. Who cared for very little, and certainly not two small girls. Unfortunately, Cole had had no one to do the same thing for him, and he'd do anything to shelter his sisters from that.

As Cole approached the Jenkins farm, he could hear clattering and hammering noises from the barn, and turned towards it. He suspected he would find his father there. He carried the basket in his good hand, and found himself tucking the bandaged one behind his back.

Cole poked his head around the corner of the barn door, and sure enough, there was his father, hammering in a nail, while Mr Jenkins held a plank of wood in place.

Suddenly aware of a presence, Mr Jenkins glanced up and saw Cole standing there. He smiled, and gestured Cole in further with a gesture of his head.

"Afternoon, Master Mackenzie. What's to do?"

His father looked up at the mention of Cole's name and then stood, placing his hands on his hips and leaning over to stretch out his spine.

Cole held the basket up, "Mama sent me with some sandwiches for you… On account of you being here late?"

"What a thoughtful wife you have, Jeremiah!" Mr Jenkins said.

Mr Mackenzie said nothing, and just regarded Cole thoughtfully. Despite what the boy may think, Jeremiah Mackenzie had known the lad all his life. He knew their relationship, and he knew the way the boy's brain worked. Something was different from when he had seen the lad at breakfast time.

He scanned Cole with his eyes, looking him up and down. Then he saw.

"Why is your hand wrapped up?"

His heart pounding, Cole placed the basket down by his feet and raised his wrapped right hand.

"I got switched by Mr Phillips."

Mr Jenkins tutted, "Master Mackenzie! I'd thought you were a sensible lad! Didn't you Jeremiah?"

There was a long pause. Mr Mackenzie continued to stare at his son.

"He is a sensible lad."

He started to approach his son. Cole wanted to step away, but he'd stepped away from Mr Phillips at first, and it hadn't helped any. He would stand up to it, this time.

Surprising Cole with his gentleness, his father took hold of his wrist and started to un-tie the scarf.

"Let me see."

Mr Jenkins came forward also, and stood watching, as Cole's father un-tied the scarf and unwound it, until his palm was revealed.

The three of them stared down at his open palm. Most of the redness had faded now, and in-between the stripes themselves, his skin was a mostly normal pale pink. However, where the switch had hit him each time, the marks were purple and raised. And where the skin had been cut, small scabs had started to form.

"Six?" His father asked, lightly touching a fingertip to the centre of the boy's palm. Cole resisted the urge to curl his fingers and pull away.

Cole nodded, "Yes Sir."

There was a long pause. Cole's father, ever so gently, ran his finger along the line of each stripe. Cole's jaw twitched. They were still sore to the touch.

"Six is the most across the hand… " He spoke quietly, almost to himself.

"Tell me what you did."

Cole was fighting every urge in his body, telling him to run. But his father still had a firm grip around his wrist. He swallowed, and began his story.

"I was using my ball of clay. Working it to build up the muscles in my wrist again. When another boy snatched it from me. While it was being thrown around, a… a window got broken… Mr Phillips switched me because the clay was mine… and… and because I said that you and Mama wouldn't be able to afford to replace the window. This was Mr Phillips' alternative punishment." Cole gestured down at the stripes on his hand.

He looked up at his father's face. His father was still staring at Cole's open palm. Then he spoke quietly.

"Was it you who threw the clay at the window?"

Cole shook his head, "No Sir."

"Did your teacher see who threw the clay?"

"Yes Sir."

His father frowned, his voice quiet, "So you were switched because we couldn't afford a pane of glass?"

"Yes Sir."

Mr Mackenzie pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. He dropped Cole's wrist.

"We'll see about that. I'm sorry Thomas, I haven't got any more time to help tonight. I'll be back tomorrow."

With that, he turned and marched out of the barn, leaving Cole and Mr Jenkins standing in his wake.

Cole turned to the farmer, "Where's he going?"

Mr Jenkins turned back to his cart, "Well, lad. I suspect he may be going to pay a visit to that school master of yours."

Cole frowned, puzzled. "Why?"

Mr Jenkins looked back at him over his shoulder and shrugged, like it was obvious.

"Because you don't switch a child, just because their family is poor."

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Matthew finally opens up to Marilla about why he reacted like he did up at the school house. He and Marilla spend some time together, talking about events from their past.


	13. Chapter 13 - I Wanted To Be Saved

AT GREEN GABLES

Marilla was busy in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal and putting together a tray of food for Gilbert. An hour or so earlier, Matthew had carried the boy upstairs, and settled him into bed.

"Anne?" Marilla said, turning to Anne, who was flicking through a book at the table.

"Take this tray up to Gilbert please. Maybe sit with him while he eats? I'm sure he'd appreciate the distraction."

Anne leapt up, "Yes Marilla."

She took the tray and carried it carefully to the stairs, minding her step all the way up.

Marilla listened to the sound of Anne's step creaking above them, and then a muffled thump. Marilla liked to think that was Anne sitting down on the edge of the bed, and not, perhaps, dropping the entire tray on the floor.

As soon as she felt Anne was out of the way, she rounded on Matthew, who was smoking his pipe by the fire.

"Now, you listen to me, Matthew Cuthbert!"

Matthew started, turning to Marilla with a jot, and a "huh?"

"That boy upstairs," she began, pointing up at the ceiling.

"That boy upstairs is not your problem. He's not my problem, and he's certainly not Anne's problem."

Matthew sighed, "I know that, well enough."

Marilla stared at her brother for a long moment. Then she pulled up a chair next to his, and took hold of his hand. Matthew avoided her eye, looking into the flames of the fire and chewing on his pipe.

"I imagine it gave you a shock… The scene at the school house…?"

Matthew nodded, "Aye, it did that."

Marilla licked her lips, somewhat nervously, "I imagine… I imagine it reminded you of times you'd have rather forgotten."

Matthew was silent, his gaze fixed on the flames.

A long moment passed. Each Cuthbert sibling thinking their own thoughts.

"How…" Marilla began, "How did you even come to be there? You were going to the store… And yet there you were at the school house."

Matthew sighed heavily, he'd been waiting for that question to come to her. Then he turned and looked at his older sister. She was staring right at him, concern and tiredness etched over her face. Matthew just gazed at her for a long moment. For so many years now, it had been him and Marilla against the world. She knew his heart. She knew what he'd been through, all those years ago. It was her, after all, who helped him find the courage to report what was happening, after she'd seen his wounds one day, by accident, while he was bathing. Michael had been there as well… of course… But with Michael so rarely in school, because of his health… he hadn't been there… at school… to protect him.

Matthew shrugged, "The path was dry, so I took the short cut past the school… Then I heard it… That sound…"

He shut his eyes, remembering, and winced, shaking his head, as if he were trying to shake the memory away.

"There's nothing else quite like that sound, you understand? It whistles, you know? A switch. It makes a very distinctive sound."

He paused for a moment, collecting himself.

Perhaps it is fifty years ago now… But some things you don't forget. And when I heard it… I remembered it, and I ran. I just ran because I knew I could stop it. No one had ever run in to stop it happening to me. But I could. I could do it now."

"Oh Matthew…" Marilla whispered, clutching his hand tightly.

"And when…" He continued, "When I saw the boy there… At first I saw myself. I saw just how pitiful I must have looked."

Marilla stayed silent. She looked down at their intertwined fingers, and waited. Matthew had spoken so rarely about what happened to him as a child, that she was loathe to interrupt him now.

"It happened to me so often. I was called stupid so many times, that… eventually… I started to believe it. I started to think I deserved it. Every slap, every cut, every beating. I deserved them all.

Marilla shook her head, barely trusting herself to speak.

"No, Matthew. No."

"I thought… I thought perhaps I had the devil in me. That he was making me this stupid. And that perhaps… Perhaps Mr York was helping me to get the devil out."

He glanced over at Marilla, "That's what I thought you know? That he was helping to rid me of the devil? I thought maybe, just maybe, he was trying to save me. My own personal exorcism."

Marilla had rarely heard Matthew say so many words at once. And on this occasion, their roles were swapped. This time it was her who was without words.

"Now I know that's not what it was. He beat me because he hated that I wasn't learning. That I never got any better at anything. He beat me because he was frustrated. And it's easy to take your frustration out on a child, who can't defend themselves."

Marilla nodded, "That's right Matthew."

There was a long pause. Each Cuthbert gazed into the fire. Their fingers still locked together.

Matthew broke the silence, and gazed right into his sister's eyes.

"I don't think I've ever forgiven him."

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Anne tries to pass the time in conversation with Gilbert. It doesn't go to plan.


	14. Chapter 14 - Tragical Gilbert

Upstairs, Anne was sat on the edge of the bed, watching Gilbert eat. She'd helped him move onto his side and had positioned the tray next to him, so that he could eat without having to sit up.

All was quiet, apart from the sound of Gilbert chewing, and the quiet murmur of voices from downstairs. Matthew and Marilla must be talking about something.

After a time, Gilbert finished eating, and put his spoon back in the bowl. He flopped back onto his back with a grunt and a murmured, "Ouch." He closed his eyes, and lay there, completely expressionless.

Anne picked up the tray and put it down on the floor.

"You know…" Anne began, "This could be a tale from some long-ago Medieval romance…"

Gilbert turned his head slightly, and cracked an eye open at her.

"That seems unlikely."

Anne leaned forward, suddenly enthusiastic.

"I mean it Gilbert. Just imagine it!"

"I don't want to."

Anne slapped his shoulder, and he glared at her, "Gilbert! Use your imagination! Perhaps just replace Cole in your imagination with a… with a… princess. Or, better! A servant girl! Yes, a servant girl!

Gilbert lay still. His eyes closed.

Anne rolled her eyes at him, but then, placing her head in her hands, continued on with her fantasy.

"I think it would be like this… Imagine that the poor, tragical servant girl is being tormented by… the head cook! I think Mr Phillips could be that role, don't you?"

Gilbert remained unmoving.

"Imagine… She is terrorised by this cook day after day! She cooks and slaves away to produce beautiful meals, but because the cook despises her, he tells her that her meals are awful! But then it turns out that the King and Queen adore the servant girl's meals and want her to take over as cook! He is so angry! He is furious! He takes a… an egg whisk! And he starts to beat the girl with it!"

Gilbert, still with his eyes closed, but with a slight smirk, "And let me guess? The knight in shining armour arrives?"

Anne laughed, "Gilbert! That's it! The knight arrives and sees the awful crime being committed! He steps in to save the girl and has a vicious battle with the cook! They are fighting each other and…"

"And the knight wins. Of course." Gilbert finishes.

Anne slapped his shoulder a second time, "That's it Gilbert! That's the story! I'm going to write it down, the next time I'm in Story Club. Then I'll read it out to the others! How they'll love it! Of course, I'll make it a lot more tragical and beautiful first. The story needs to be fleshed out some more… I think I'll call the girl… Cordelia. And the knight… Sir Travis."

Gilbert opened his eyes, and looked frankly at Anne, "I'd prefer it if you didn't."

Anne frowned, "What do you mean?"

Gilbert looked at her, askance, "Because I'm no Sir Travis?"

Anne made a face at him, "I never said you were, Gilbert Blythe. I'm just saying that any situation can be spun into a lovely story, if you think about it the right way!"

Gilbert turned his face to the wall, "I'd rather never think about it again. Ever."

Anne folded her arms, "No one will think it's about you Gilbert!"

"Of course they'll think it's about me, and Cole. Don't write it Anne!" Gilbert snapped.

Anne huffed, "Why are you so moody Gilbert Blythe?"

Gilbert flipped over to face her, propping himself halfway up on an elbow.

"You're accusing me of being moody? ME? And what if I am, quite frankly! I think I have a right to feel a bit out of sorts!"

Anne's jaw dropped, "You know, Gilbert? Not everything is about YOU! Honestly! I don't know why Ruby likes you so much! You're just rude!"

Gilbert looked puzzled, "Ruby likes me? LIKES me, likes me?"

Anne blushed through her freckles, "I… I don't know anything about that. But I do know that it's unpleasant to be both moody AND rude!"

The two of them scowled at each other for a long second. Gilbert let his head fall back to the pillow with an "urgh!"

Standing up quickly, feeling increasingly angry, Anne rounded on Gilbert and punched him on the arm. "Gilbert Blythe! You are the worst boy! And not just you! All boys! ALL OF YOU! I HATE ALL BOYS!"

For the first time, Gilbert smirked, "That's a sweeping statement, Miss Cuthbert. It seems a shame to tarnish a whole gender with your low opinion. Just because I seem to have inadvertently upset you."

Anne continued to glare at him, aghast. "WHY DO BOYS DO THAT? IT'S INFURIATING!"

Gilbert shrugged, still smirking. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She pointed at his face, "THAT. THAT LOOK! GOOD NIGHT!"

With that, she snatched up his dinner tray and marched out the door. Making sure to give it a good kick on the way out.

She stomped down the stairs and dropped the tray on the table, causing all the plates and cups to rattle alarmingly.

Marilla and Matthew were still sitting by the fire, and turned in alarm at the sudden rattle and crash.

"Anne!" Marilla exclaimed, "Be careful!"

Anne stomped over to the two of them, "Marilla, perhaps you can explain to me? Why are boys such horrible, despicable creatures? I tried to be nice to Gilbert Blythe, I really did. Instead, the rotten boy is just mean and nasty!"

Marilla and Matthew glanced at each other with a tiny smirk.

"Oh, Anne." Marilla began, "That's perhaps a bit harsh. The boy has had a difficult day."

Anne's eyebrows shot up, "Difficult?! He doesn't know the meaning of the word! URGH!"

With that, she turned on her heel and flounced up the stairs.

Marilla caught Matthew's eye and they chuckled, "To think you were the one who wanted to keep her."

Matthew nodded and chewed his pipe, "Perhaps I should go and check in on Gilbert. Just check he's comfortable and doesn't need anything before he settles down to sleep."

"Suit yourself." Marilla said, "I'll work on my sewing for a short while."

Matthew pushed himself up from his chair and knocked out his pipe on the edge of the fire place. Leaving Marilla sat in the light of the flames, he made his way up the stairs.

He cracked open the bedroom door and peered in. Gilbert was on his side, his head turned to the wall.

Matthew came all the way in, closing the door softly behind himself. Gilbert peered over his shoulder at the sound of the latch clicking closed, and smiled begrudgingly at Matthew.

"I've upset Anne, haven't I?"

Matthew shrugged slightly, and came to perch on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sure Anne wouldn't argue if I said that women can be very mysterious and strange creatures. I think us men can manage to upset them, and never know what we did to cause it."

Gilbert looked thoughtful, "I don't really know what I did."

Matthew smiled down at the boy, "Then I wouldn't worry about it for too long. The most marvellous thing about women, in my opinion at least, is their ability to forgive and forget by morning."

Somewhat relieved, Gilbert re-adjusted his position, squirming slightly as his wounds scrapped across the bed.

"Are you comfortable enough?" Matthew asked, adjusting Gilbert's pillow for him.

"I'm fine." Gilbert replied, "Just a bit sore."

Matthew watched the boy for a moment. He knew from his own experience that, for a lad trying to be brave around people he didn't know terribly well, "a bit sore" could quite easily mean anything from, "it's really nothing much", to "I'm trying my hardest not to scream."

Matthew also knew from his own experience, that the pain the boy was in, was likely to be considerable.

"I think…" Matthew pondered aloud, "that it might be a good idea for you to drink a willow bark tea before you settle down to sleep. It'll just take the edge off for you. I ask Marilla to brew one for you."

Gilbert lifted his head, suddenly alarmed, "That really won't be necessary Mr Cuthbert! I wouldn't want to put anyone to any trouble on my account."

Matthew laid a hand on Gilbert's shoulder, "It's really no trouble lad. I think it would be for the best. Rest a moment, and I'll send Marilla up with it."

Gilbert sank back onto the pillow with a heavy sigh, "Thank you Sir. I appreciate it."

Matthew stood, pausing on his way out the door. "It's my pleasure, lad. Rest now."

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Mr Mackenzie and Cole arrive home. Mr Mackenzie wants to take some money to pay Mr Phillips for the broken window. Cole is against the idea…


	15. Chapter 15 - You Are Mine

YOU ARE MINE

Jeremiah Mackenzie put his head down and hurried back to the farm house. He wanted to get there, and then onwards, before Cole returned from Mr Jenkins' place.

It was nearly dark out now, and the evening was getting colder. Jeremiah was still carrying Cole's scarf, which had been around his hand, so tied it around his own neck for a little extra warmth.

Hurrying towards the house, he could see the lights from candles in the window, and the dark shape of his wife, preparing food and tending to the children.

He came up the steps of the porch, stamping his feet to knock off any loose mud, rather than bring it into the house, then went inside.

His wife, Martha, looked up at the sound of the opening door, and glanced at her husband. She carried their wailing baby son in her arms, and was just placing cups of milk in front of the two girls.

"This baby just won't settle. Please hold him a moment. Perhaps you can soothe him?"

She went to pass the baby over to Jeremiah, but he shook his head.

"I can't at this moment. I need a bit of the house-keeping money, and then I need to go out again."

His wife paused, and stared at him, puzzled. "The house-keeping money? Whatever for? I'll need that for buying groceries on Friday… Where's Cole?"

For the first time, she realised that even though she'd sent Cole to meet up with his father, they hadn't come back together.

"Cole got bitten by a horsey!" Piped up a little voice from the table, five-year-old Mary.

Martha Mackenzie shook her head, "What? Don't be daft child."

"Horsey bite. Like Papa." Little Margaret added, nodding sagely.

Martha turned to Jeremiah, confused. "Cole got bitten by a horse? When? Why isn't he here?"

Jeremiah started to unwind the scarf from his neck, "I expect he'll be here presently… And it weren't no horse that bit him."

Martha shifted the baby on her hip and looked confused, looking between her husband and the two girls.

"Cole was supposed to be taking you a basket of food. Down to Mr Jenkins' place. Did you see him? Where's the basket? What's going on?"

"Calm yourself woman." Jeremiah said, dropping the scarf on Mary's head and making her laugh.

"I've accidentally left the basket down there. I'll fetch it tomorrow. Cole will be on his way back here, and I need some money and to be on my way before he returns and tries to stop me."

"No." Martha said, moving herself to stand between Jeremiah and the door. Effectively blocking his exit. "I haven't seen Cole. I talked to him from upstairs when he got in from school. Is he hurt? What bit him?"

Jeremiah knew his wife was a determined woman, and he would be getting no money, or even out of the house, without telling her what was going on. Instead of arguing further, he sat himself down in his chair, unbuttoning his coat.

"The boy appeared at Mr Jenkins' place, his hand bandaged up. When I asked about it, he told me he'd got a beating off that school master of his… Mr Phillips? He told me some clay of his was being thrown around by some other boys, which broke a window. Cole told the teacher that we wouldn't be able to AFFORD a new window, so he got himself a switching instead."

"Oh dear…" Martha said, grimacing.

"Oh dear indeed!" Jeremiah responded, "I took a look at his hand. That school master didn't go light on him either. You can see each stripe like they'd been painted on with a quill and ink!"

"I want a quill!" Margaret suddenly said, not really understanding the conversation.

"No you don't." Replied her mother, pushing the cup of milk closer to her.

"What's switching mean?" Mary asked quietly, swirling a finger in her milk. She glanced up at her parents, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

Jeremiah scratched his chin, "It means when you get hit with a stick off a tree, when you've been really naughty."

Mary pondered this information for a moment, "Like what you do to Cole as well? Cole is naughty?"

Jeremiah had the good sense to look slightly awkward. He hadn't realised the girls saw or knew any of that.

He coughed, "Well, sometimes he's not always such a good boy. But you're good aren't you? You and Margaret?"

Mary nodded quickly, slurping the milk from her finger, "I don't want switching. That would hurt. Wouldn't it Margaret?"

Little Margaret hadn't followed the conversation at all, but nodded her head slowly.

Mary leaned closer to Jeremiah and whispered confidentially, "Margaret nearly got a smack from Cole earlier! She was too noisy for Mama!"

"Did not!" Margaret replied, rounding on her big sister.

Jeremiah leaned around Mary to stare sternly at Margaret, who was glaring at her sister. "Indeed? You need to behave yourself, little miss. Or it'll be you next time."

Margaret looked at him, uncomprehending, "Can I ride horsey before bed?"

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, "Not today."

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. He knew Cole took on a lot of responsibility for the two girls. His wife struggled to manage the house, the baby and the girls. Cole picked up a lot of the slack. Perhaps he was too hard on the boy. And he himself should be more involved with raising his two girls.

At that moment, the door swung open and Cole burst in. Red in the face and out of breath. He'd clearly run back from the Jenkins farm. He looked back and forth between his parents.

Without a word, Martha went straight to him and snatched up his hand, "Let me see this."

Cole cringed, embarrassed by the scrutiny, as his mother peered at his palm. Her face was expressionless as her eyes scanned each mark and bruise. She held his hand in both of hers and looked up at her son.

"This looks painful."

He nodded, "Not so much now though Mama."

Continuing to hold his hand, Martha turned to Jeremiah. In their stare, their eyes spoke to each other. In the long tradition of a couple that had been married many years, a simple look could tell them what the other was thinking, without the need for talk. Martha nodded her head, just a fraction, and let go of Cole's hand. She went to the shelf above the fireplace and pulled down a wooden box, where the house-keeping money was kept. Without a word, she counted out some coins and handed them to her husband.

Jeremiah stood up, pocketed the coins and began to button his coat.

"Where are you going?" Cole asked, suddenly anxious. He remembered what Mr Jenkins had said about father paying a visit to Mr Phillips.

"Out." Replied Jeremiah simply, and started to head for the door.

"Papa, you can't!" Cole cried, inserting himself in the way.

The father stared at the son, there wasn't much height difference between them now, but Jeremiah still had a significant weight advantage. Although Cole was tall, he hadn't yet filled out. If he needed to, Jeremiah could easily move Cole out of the way.

"Don't try and tell me what I can and can't do, boy." Jeremiah stated quietly. "This is not your business."

"But it is my business!" Cole cried out desperately, "It was my hand!"

"Exactly." Jeremiah replied, "It was YOUR hand, you are MY son, and I won't have it."

He attempted to step round the boy. He would rather not make physical contact if he didn't have to.

"But what are you going to do?" Cole argued, stepping across with his father.

"Naturally, I'm going to pay him for the cost of the window."

"AND?!"

"And then I will instruct him further on how I expect him to conduct himself around my son."

"Papa! You can't! It'll make it worse! He'll probably beat me again, just to get back at me!"

Jeremiah patted Cole on the shoulder, "I can assure you that he won't, lad. Now let me past."

He side-stepped in the other direction, to go past Cole, but Cole continued to block the way.

"I mean it boy, let me through."

"I… I can't Papa…" Cole could no longer make eye contact with his father, but boldly held his position.

Jeremiah glanced back at his wife and daughters, who were watching this battle of wills with increasing concern. Jeremiah knew he had to end the stand-off. His hand flicked out and he grabbed Cole by the left ear, pulling his head up sharply. Cole winced, but said nothing. Jeremiah began to whisper in Cole's ear.

"You listen to me now, boy. You will let me past, without upsetting your mother or sisters any further. If you don't, I'll drag you outside right now, by your ear, pick myself a switch and give you another beating. And I won't stop at six. Do you understand me?" He kept a grip on Cole's ear, pulling up just a little further, to stretch Cole's ear just a little more, and waited for a response.

He felt Cole take a sharp intake of breath, "I understand you."

Jeremiah immediately let go of his son's ear. Cole resisted the urge to rub his sore ear and stood, sullenly silent.

Jeremiah did up the final button of his coat, retrieved Cole's scarf from the table, knotting it around his own neck, and left the house. The door closing behind him with a thud.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Cole follows his father to confront Mr Phillips… When they arrive at his house, they all get a surprise.


	16. Chapter 16 - Sarah Phillips

SARAH PHILLIPS

Cole threw a desperate glance at his mother, and then, without another word ran for the door.

"Cole! No!" His mother cried after him.

Cole ignored her and stepped outside. His father hadn't got far at all, barely to the farm yard gate.

Cole stepped down the porch steps and began to follow at a distance. Keeping about thirty paces behind.

In a mute procession, Jeremiah and Cole both began to walk towards the school. Everyone knew that Mr Phillips, or whoever the current school teacher happened to be, kept a small house just a little further up the path, past the school.

Suddenly, Jeremiah stepped smartly off the path, pulling his pocket knife from inside of his coat, and reached up to grab a thin branch of an over-hanging tree. He neatly cut the branch from the tree, and used his knife to trim off leaves and smaller shoots.

"I've cut myself a switch, lad. I told you not to interfere. Come here."

Cole had already stopped moving, keeping a safe distance away.

"You told me not to stop you from leaving. You never said I couldn't come with you."

Jeremiah span on his heel and looked at Cole. He folded his arms and stared, thoughtfully, at Cole. The switch hanging loosely in his fingers. He felt a tiny smile of pride creeping in at the corner of his mouth. The boy was becoming a man. Six months ago, the lad would never have dared question him like this. Jeremiah couldn't say he liked it, but he found himself admiring that Cole was brave enough now to have a go. To challenge him. But now he was going to test the boy. Did he really have any courage?

Jeremiah deliberately unfolded his arms, and let the switch start a steady metronome beat, tapping dully against his right boot. A movement designed to intimidate.

"I said, come here."

The two Mackenzie's stood facing each other, about thirty paces apart. Both of their faces completely expressionless.

Then Cole started to move. His father felt a surge of pride. The boy could do it! He watched, struggling to keep his face passive, as Cole slowly moved closer and closer. Eventually, Cole came to a stop, only about two feet away from his father, and stared into his face.

Cole's heart was hammering. He knew that any beating from his father could be far worse than anything Mr Phillips could, and would, dish out. His eyes flashed down briefly, to the switch that was tapping at his father's boot. He'd cut himself a particularly harsh one this time. About three foot in length, thin and whippy.

Jeremiah's hand suddenly whipped out, and caught hold of Cole's collar. He span Cole roughly on the spot so that he was looking at the boy's back. Cole stood resolutely still, but Jeremiah could feel his shoulders heaving up and down through the grip on his collar, as he did his best to breathe through his rising anxiety.

Jeremiah shifted his grip slightly, putting pressure on the back of Cole's neck, forcing him to bend forwards. They stayed in that position for a long moment, neither speaking. Jeremiah moved slightly, to Cole's side. Under his hand, he felt Cole's body stiffen and freeze, bracing itself for the blow that was about to fall.

Jeremiah altered his feet, aware that that would be all that Cole would be able to see of him. Then he made a big show of bringing the switch up high, making a point to do it quickly, so that it would whistle on the way up.

He felt Cole take a deep in-breath. But then, instead of whipping it down on the lad, he bought it down relatively gently, and instead just gave the lad a solid tap to the back of his thighs.

Cole wiggled, shaking out his knees, and looked up at his father in confusion.

Jeremiah let go of Cole's neck, and stepped away from him.

"You're a brave lad. And now, you and I have got a job to do."

Cole straightened doubtfully, giving his thighs a brief rub, "You're not… You're not switching me?"

Jeremiah shook his head, "Not this time."

Cole's eyes flicked to the switch his father was still holding. Jeremiah caught the glance.

"This isn't necessarily for you."

Cole's eyes shot wide open. "Papa! You can't!"

Jeremiah tried to look innocent, "I can't what?"

"You can't go and beat Mr Phillips! He's… He's a grown up!"

Jeremiah shrugged, "Did I say I was going to beat him? No. Perhaps… Perhaps I just felt like cutting a new switch to keep at home. For easy access."

Cole glanced at his father, disconcerted, but then relaxed when he saw the slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I think you should throw it away, Papa…"

"I don't agree. Come along."

Jeremiah turned, without another word, and continued down the path. Cole paused a moment, then rushed to catch him up. The two of them walked together in silence. One significantly more nervous than the other.

As they came up over the hill, the school came in to view. It was dark, with no signs of light, or anyone inside. Mr Phillips had gone home for the day, as had all the other children.

They carried on past the school, towards the school master's house. As they came around the corner, they could see that the windows were lit up, and there was clearly signs of life going on inside.

Cole followed, a few steps before his father, as Jeremiah marched through the gate, and knocked firmly on the door.

There was quite a long pause. To Cole's surprise, he thought he could hear voices coming from the inside. Then, all of a sudden, there was the sound of hurrying feet coming to the door. The door flew open, and to the Mackenzie's surprise, a small girl, of about seven or eight years old, was standing there, smiling up at them.

"Hello!" She said brightly.

"Oh!" Jeremiah said, surprised. "Erm… Good evening Miss. Is your…" He glanced over at Cole, who just shrugged.

"Is… Erm… Mr Phillips at home?"

The little girl stared at him, quizzically. "Uncle Teddy? Yes… Do you want to come in?"

Jeremiah nodded, "If we may."

The little girl nodded, and stepped back, opening the door more fully for them to enter. They both came in, and stood awkwardly in the hallway. The girl shut the door behind them and shouted "TEDDY! SOMEONE IS HERE!" at the top of her lungs, making the Mackenzie's startle, before dashing away towards a back room.

"Sarah! Far too loud!" called a familiar voice. Then Mr Phillips emerged from the same room the girl, Sarah, had run into. He had removed his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves. His collar was open, and his tie was gone. He looked completely different.

He came out into the hallway, a tired smile on his face. A smile which rapidly fell away when he saw Cole standing at his father's shoulder.

His eyebrows shot up, and he looked momentarily anxious. Yet he brushed it off, and came towards the Mackenzie's, offering a handshake.

"Ah. Mr Mackenzie. And… Mr Mackenzie? I'm glad to meet you."

The two men shook hands and sized each other up in silence.

"Perhaps you'd like to come back through to the kitchen?" Teddy Phillips stood to one side, and followed the two Mackenzie's as they made their way down the hall, and into a small kitchen at the back of the house.

Cole entered the kitchen first. The girl, Sarah, was sitting at the table, peering down at a slate, the tip of her tongue poking out, as she practised what looked to be letter formations. She glanced up as they entered, and gave a quick smile, before looking back at her slate.

"Won't you sit down?" Mr Phillips asked, gesturing to the empty chairs at the table.

The two Mackenzie's sat down, and Mr Phillips leaned up against a cupboard.

"Can I enquire as to the nature of your visit, gentlemen?"

Jeremiah paused, and glanced at Cole, and then at the girl. Mr Phillips saw the look.

"This is my… ward. My brother's girl. Sarah."

Jeremiah nodded to the girl, who looked up at the sound of her name.

"My Mama and Papa died last year. I live with Uncle Teddy now. I'm seven!"

Cole looked between Sarah and Mr Phillips. He could actually see a family resemblance. Like Mr Phillips, Sarah had dark, wavy hair, but hers was tied back into a long, thick plait. Knotted at the end with a length of silky red ribbon.

Jeremiah looked at the girl also. She was simply dressed, but neat and tidy, and clearly well-cared for.

"It's a lot of work to care for a child… Who helps you with her?"

Teddy and Sarah Phillips looked at each other. She smiled at him.

"It's just me and Uncle Teddy. I'm starting school next week! Isn't that exciting?! But when Teddy goes to school, I stay here with Mrs Edmunds. But not next week! Mrs Edmunds will be so lonely!"

She looked around at the other three in the room. Cole caught her eye and gave her an encouraging nod, "Yes, that is exciting. You'll be a big girl won't you?"

Sarah beamed around the room. Her excited little face making everyone else smile back at her, whether they really wanted to or not.

Mr Phillips went up behind Sarah and unknotted the ribbon securing her plait, then started to gently untangle the thick strands with his fingers. Cole watched, amazed. He'd never seen Mr Phillips act so gently.

"I want you to head upstairs and start getting changed for bed, Madam. I'll be up in a few moments, after I've spoken with Mr and Master Mackenzie."

Sarah pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, her long dark hair now flowing around her shoulders. Cole couldn't help but think what a pretty little thing she was.

The three of them watched as Sarah left the room. They could hear her stamping up the stairs, singing to herself under her breath. Despite the reason for their visit, Cole couldn't help but feel cheered by the jolly little girl. He'd have to watch out for her at school, and check she was settling in with the other little ones.

As soon as Sarah was safely upstairs, Mr Phillips took her spot at the table.

"Now then gentlemen, I'm certain I know why you are here."

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Jeremiah and Mr Phillips discuss the events of the day. Gradually, the whole story of the day's events comes out. How far will Jeremiah go to seek justice for his son?


	17. Chapter 17 - In The Midst Of Monsters

IN THE MIDST OF MONSTERS

Jeremiah had, until that point, been holding the switch on his lap, but now he lifted it up and placed it on the table.

Mr Phillips regarded it with some interest for a moment - not seeming to notice, or care about, the implied threat - and then turned to Cole.

"Master Mackenzie, I realise I acted harshly today. That second incident should never have occurred, and I would humbly beg your pardon for it. I do also realise that I owe some level of apology to Mr Blythe."

Cole nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak, or to look up at his teacher.

Silence hung awkwardly in the room for a moment.

"May I see your hand?" Mr Phillips asked.

Cole paused for a moment. He felt as if his day was coming full circle. Reluctantly, he uncurled his clenched fingers, and presented, for the second time that day, his open palm to Mr Phillips.

This time, Mr Phillips surprised Cole with his gentleness. Cole found his hand resting quite comfortably in Mr Phillips' own, having his fingers carefully held open. Mr Phillips leaned forward, and looked into Cole's palm with a clinician's level of interest. Seeming to examine his own handiwork.

He studied Cole's palm for a long moment, "Nothing seems to be excessively damaged?" He looked up at Cole, with a slight frown.

Cole considered it. To look at, his hand looked battered. But although still very tender, and aching, he didn't get the sense that there was anything that wouldn't be feeling much better within four or five days.

"I don't think so, Sir."

Mr Phillips nodded, "That's good. Despite what you may think, young man, it's not my desire to cripple a child. And again, that second incident… I very much apologise."

Jeremiah coughed, seeming to remind the other two that he was still there. His own fingers reached out to brush the switch back and forth, causing it to rattle over the table.

"You're speaking of a second incident… and Gilbert Blythe…? Cole? What is this?"

Cole paused, he hadn't spoken to his parents about what happened later. Or what happened with Gilbert. Cole tried to tell himself that it was purely because the moment had never arrived. Or… was he more ashamed of it?

Mr Phillips turned to Cole, puzzled. "Master Mackenzie? Does your father not know what else happened?"

Cole found that he was unable to look at either of the men sitting alongside him. He shook his head.

"Young man," his father began, "I suggest you tell me this very moment, or we shall come to grief. Now. If you please."

Cole winced, he knew when his father became icily polite, he was starting to become angry.

He swallowed, chewing his lip for a moment, then quietly began to speak.

"After recess… Erm… We were doing our reading and… and Gilbert was rude to Mr Phillips…" Cole flicked his eyes in Mr Phillips' direction. Mr Phillips nodded, and then got up from the table. Moving away to stand in the doorway.

Cole continued, "Because Gilbert was disrespectful, he was going to be punished. Only… I think he was angry over what had happened to me earlier… So he refused to let Mr Phillips punish him. Then… Mr Phillips grabbed me… and… and then he switched me across the behind."

Jeremiah's eyebrows shot up and he stared, aghast, at Mr Phillips.

Cole continued quickly, "But then Gilbert realised what he'd done, so he stopped it and… and then he got switched instead."

Jeremiah continued to stare at Mr Phillips, his face completely unreadable. There was a long, awkward silence.

Eventually, without taking his eyes from Mr Phillips, Jeremiah spoke. "How many times were you hit?"

Cole's eyes were frantically flicking between the two men. Who was going to react first?

"Two, Papa. Just two."

Jeremiah raised his eyebrows, and nodded slightly.

"And the Blythe boy?"

Cole looked at Mr Phillips. He was staring back at Jeremiah. Waiting. His face expressionless.

"How many for the Blythe boy?" Jeremiah asked again.

"Nine, Sir."

Jeremiah glanced at Cole, "Nine?"

"Yes Sir."

Jeremiah Mackenzie took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, and then stood, pushing the chair back from the table with a squeak across the floorboards. He stood for a moment, staring at Mr Phillips, and then reached into his pocket, pulling out the small collection of coins his wife had given him.

Without breaking eye contact, he placed them on the table. "This is to pay for the window. However, you will know that it wasn't Cole who threw the item that caused the window to break. But we will pay it, because the clay was his. My wife and I will recoup the loss from our son." He glanced at Cole, threat in his eyes.

Then, slowly, Jeremiah began to make his way around the table, towards Mr Phillips. He came closer and closer, until the two men were almost chest to chest. Cole almost admired how Mr Phillips was prepared to hold his ground. Then, very quietly, Jeremiah began to speak. His voice little more than a whisper.

"However, Sir. You will never again, and I mean, NEVER punish my boy, or ANY boy, just because they say they are too poor to afford to replace something. If that happens, you are to speak to that boy's parents first. You may not use violence against a less wealthy child, when you would not beat a child from a richer family for the same offense. Do you understand me?"

There was a long pause, until Mr Phillips spoke, his voice deathly quiet, "I understand. I made a mistake."

Jeremiah nodded, "Yes you did. And you made a second mistake today. And that was to beat my boy a second time, for the offense of another."

Mr Phillips nodded, but did not speak, his face pale.

Jeremiah continued, "You see, Sir. I will always defend your right to use whatever correction you see fit, in your own classroom. As I do in my own home with my own children. However, to beat a child who has done nothing wrong, who is already in pain, because another child has done wrong? That, SIR, is unacceptable."

Mr Phillips took a step back, "I do see that. I know I have no excuse for that behaviour. Hence why I have offered Master Mackenzie my apology. And will do the same with Master Blythe."

Jeremiah nodded, "I accept your apology on my son's behalf. I can't speak for Master Blythe however."

With that, Jeremiah spun on his heel and took up the switch from the table. He turned back and held it loosely in his hands, making sure Mr Phillips could see it, and feel the implied threat.

"I cut this on my way here this evening. Cole will tell you that it has a sting to it. Doesn't it boy?"

Cole nodded silently, his eyes fixed on the scene before him.

"I cut this because I fully intended to use it. To give you, Sir, a whipping you wouldn't forget. However… I won't. I won't, because you have that little girl upstairs. She does not need to hear or see it, and she needs you in a fit state to care for her. I also won't beat you, because I see the way you are when you are with her. And I can see that you're not a monster. You made a terrible mistake today. But you're not a monster."

With that, he pushed past Mr Phillips, the switch still in his hand, and headed for the front door. Cole threw one last glance at his school master, and followed his father out of the house.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

The Mackenzie's return home to reflect on the evening's events. Meanwhile, over at Green Gables…


	18. Chapter 18 - I Will Be There

I WILL BE THERE

Jeremiah hurried down the porch steps and marched off along the path. His head down, and the switch still in his hand. Cole had to almost jog to keep up with him.

Just out of site of the Phillips' house, Jeremiah stopped abruptly and looked around him. And with that, he swung his arm and threw the switch away from him with all his strength. Cole watched, as the switch sailed away from them, before hitting a fence post with a clap, and falling to the ground.

Jeremiah stared after it for a moment, and then turned to look at his son.

"Let's go home."

Cole nodded mutely, and started to walk, alongside his father. Then he jumped in surprise. Without him noticing, Jeremiah had reached around, and put his arm around his son, and was now resting a gentle hand on the boy's far shoulder. Cole looked at the work-roughened hand, and then up at his father's face. It was rare for his father to make any sort of gentle, physical contact with him.

Jeremiah, meanwhile, stared resolutely ahead, his face expressionless and his eyes on the path ahead of them.

The two Mackenzie men walked like that, all the way back to their own farm. Only separating when they reached their own porch, and Jeremiah pushed Cole up ahead of them.

Opening the door and entering, Martha Mackenzie turned at the sound. She was standing at the sink, her sleeves rolled up, and scrubbing at a pot. The chairs at the table were unoccupied. Clearly the girls and the baby had been put to bed.

As soon as Jeremiah entered, she put the pot back in the sink and roughly dried her hands on a scrap of cloth.

"Did you pay him?" What happened?"

Cole stared, mutely, up at his father. This wasn't his story to tell.

Jeremiah paused for a moment, and then unbuttoned his coat, slipped it off, and hung it on a hook by the door. He unknotted the scarf from his neck and handed it back to Cole; the tips of their fingers touching, giving Cole a sudden jolt of electricity.

He glanced over at his wife, then collapsed into a chair.

"I paid him the money for the window… Otherwise, he got a reprieve."

Martha paused, frowning. "A reprieve? What do you mean?"

Jeremiah glanced up at his wife, frowning, "Did you know the school master had a child living with him? A little girl?"

Martha shook her head slowly, clearly wracking through her memory, "A child? No… But, I didn't think he had any children…?"

Jeremiah shrugged, "He doesn't. Not really. He said she's his… niece?"

He glanced at Cole for confirmation. Cole nodded.

"I got the impression she's been living with him for a while. I don't think anyone had any idea. Apparently Mrs Hammond from the town helps to care for the child while he's at the school."

Martha looked puzzled, "Judith Hammond? She whose husband works at the saw mill?"

Jeremiah shrugged, reaching for the water jug in the middle of the table, and silently pouring two glasses, then pushing one of them towards Cole.

Martha continued on, "But I see Judith Hammond most weeks… She's said nothing about caring for a child… What's the child's name?"

"Sarah." Cole said, picking up his water glass.

"Sarah Phillips…" Martha said, quietly to herself.

"Now you come to mention it… Maybe two or three months ago, Judith asked me where she might get some simple dress patterns for a child… I thought nothing of it. I mean, God chose not to grant her children of her own, but I just thought she was making one as a gift for someone… Or some paid work… I know they aren't wealthy."

All three of the Mackenzies were silent for a long moment, then Martha commented, "You said "a reprieve"? What did you mean?"

Jeremiah looked over at Cole. "I… I cut a switch on my way over… I was going to give him a taste of his own medicine. Yet… with the child there… I couldn't do it. The poor little mite would have been traumatised. He… He offered Cole an apology, and I accepted it."

Martha looked over at Cole, "Did YOU accept it?"

Cole looked between his mother and father. Both were looking at him with expressions of concern. A look he rarely saw, from either of them.

"Yes. I did."

AT GREEN GABLES

The hour was getting late. Marilla had taken Gilbert a brew of willow bark, which he'd drunk with a grimace. She'd added a bit of sugar, knowing the taste was quite bitter, but it was still rather unappetising. She'd sat with him while he drank it, and then encouraged him to lie back and go to sleep. She hoped the boy would drop off quickly, and not be too uncomfortable. But hopefully the mix of the hot drink and the mild drug would help him get some rest.

She made her way back down the stairs, yawning. She'd encourage Matthew off up to bed, then she'd go herself.

Matthew was still sitting by the fire, his pipe – now empty – hanging from his fingers.

"Matthew?" Marilla asked, "Are you going up to bed soon?"

Matthew turned to her, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to wake himself from some deep thought. He looked down at the pipe, remembering its presence, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

"Oh. Aye. I'll go now."

He went to push himself up from his chair. Marilla went to his side, and took his elbow to offer support. He looked up at her, surprised.

"I don't need any help, Marilla. I'm not that old."

Marilla kept hold of his arm, surprising herself with the urge to smooth the creases from the fabric.

I know… It's… I know it's been a difficult day for you."

Matthew looked down at her with a faint smile, "Aye… But tomorrow's another day. Lots to do. Jerry and I will start working on that fence repair. Perhaps Gilbert could help you with some baking, and Anne will be off to school, of course."

They had started walking towards the stairs as they talked, but then Marilla came to a sudden halt, and as she still had hold of Matthew's arm, he came to a stop also.

"Won't Gilbert be better off staying in bed?"

"Nonsense." Matthew replied, shaking his head. "He won't want to lie there feeling sorry for himself. Granted, he won't be running anywhere, or wanting to sit down for long, but he'll want to feel busy. And useful."

Matthew shrugged, "Just… find him something to do, aye?"

Marilla could see the logic, "And what of Anne? Is it rightly sensible to send her straight back? After today's events?"

Matthew started walking again, bringing Marilla with him. "It wasn't Anne who got herself into trouble. She'll be just fine. But that has reminded me, I may go and speak with Mr Mackenzie in the morning. There's something about that man…"

Matthew shook his head with a frown. "There's something about that man that has never sat right with me… Young Master Mackenzie may appreciate someone to check up on him…"

Marilla sighed deeply, "Are you sure that's wise, Matthew? It's another family's business…"

Together, they started to walk up the stairs. Matthew nodded, his voice quiet.

"I'd have maybe appreciated someone checking up on me…"

Marilla felt a lump in her throat, "… I… I should have done more…"

Matthew patted her hand, "You didn't know, my dear. You didn't know."

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

The next morning, Cole prepares for another day.

 _ ***Authors note***_ Those of you who ever write fiction in any quantity, will know that sometimes, during the writing process, characters reveal something about themselves, that the author didn't know, and had no intention of including in the story! In this next chapter, Cole does just that. It kind of shocked me, but it felt right for his character to include it.

Leave me a comment if you spot it… It's quite a small detail and I didn't want to bring a lot of attention to it… Does it make you reflect differently on some earlier chapters? Does it change your opinion of his family?


	19. Chapter 19 - Things Will Be Different

THINGS WILL BE DIFFERENT FOR YOU

A chink of light found its way through the curtains, and burned itself onto Cole's eyelids, piercing his unconsciousness. Waking up, Cole took a deep breath and stretched. Relaxing in his bed for a moment, before the events of yesterday came back to him with a start.

Cole's first thought went to his right hand. He was pleased to notice that it felt quite a lot better than it had done yesterday. He pulled it out from under the covers, and squinted at it in the dull morning light.

The bruising was still dark and angry. If anything, it had become darker overnight. His hand felt thick, and heavy. The only part of it that was still fairly sore was an area on the inside edge. And as Cole lay there, and considered the angles, that would have been where the thin, whippy switch would have first made contact with his palm. There was also a slight soreness on the opposite edge, where the switch would have flicked its end over him.

Cole stretched his fingers out as best he could, attempting to loosen the tight, sore joints. As he did so, he glanced over towards the bed his little sisters shared. Mary was flat on her back, her arms thrown out of the covers and over her head. Little Margaret was curled up to Mary's side, still snoring gently, her blonde hair fanning out over the pillow.

Cole sat up in bed and swung his feet round to the cold wooden floor. He stood, and made his way to the chair, where he'd dropped his clothes the night before. With a quick glance over his shoulder at his sisters, he wiggled into his pants and fastened the button at the top. Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled his night-shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the floor at his feet. He reached for his striped shirt and put his arms into the sleeves, the silvery scars on his back stretching and distorting in the morning light, as his muscles moved.

As he did up his buttons, a small cough attracted his attention, and he turned to see Margaret starting to wake.

Cole quickly reached for his woollen sweater and pulled it on, before going over to the girl's bed.

"Morning…" He smiled down at Margaret, leaning down to push her sweaty hair out of her face.

Keeping her eyes closed, and simply murmuring, "Coley…" She held her arms up to him for him to pick her up. Being careful not to bump Mary, Cole reached down and plucked Margaret out from between the sheets.

Carrying the sleepy toddler in his arms, he carried her over to his own bed and placed her on it. Then going to the single set of drawers in the room, he opened them to find her some clothes.

Pulling out a simple dress and stockings, Cole carried them back over to Margaret, who was now attempting to put on Cole's own night-shirt.

"No, thank you, Madam." Cole said, taking the shirt out of her hands and moving it out of reach.

"Arms up."

Obediently, Margaret raised her arms, and Cole pulled her nightdress over her head.

"Quick now! Clothes on, or you'll get chilly!"

The child giggled as Cole pulled the dress on, started to button the back, and then gave her a tickle on the ribs.

After putting stockings and shoes on her, he let her slide down to the floor to play with her doll, which had fallen out of the bed overnight.

Meanwhile, Margaret was starting to show signs of waking up and moving around under the covers.

Cole went over to her and lightly stroked the top of her head, "Time to get up now…"

She squirmed and arched her spine. Cole left her to find more clothes, putting them on the bed in front of her. She was old enough to mostly dress herself. He'd just do the buttons up for her at the end.

Cole went to the jug of water left out overnight, and poured some into the bowl. He went and plucked Margaret up from the floor, and using a cloth, wiped the child's face and then reached for a comb.

He brushed through her hair, then tied it back for her. Then, giving her a gentle push, directed her towards the door.

"Downstairs. Go and find Mama."

The little girl trotted off, straining up to reach the bedroom door handle and then pulling the door open.

Cole picked up the comb again, and quickly ran it through his own hair. Grateful that he didn't at least have to do much to brush his own hair. Certainly no need to tie it back, or plait it.

Meanwhile, Mary had mostly got herself dressed, and was now shimmying off the bed.

"Coley? Buttons please."

She turned her back to Cole, and waited patiently while he fiddled with the tiny buttons and then plaited her hair for her.

"Let's go and find Mama now, shall we?"

He offered his hand to the little girl, and together they went downstairs.

Margaret was already sat up at the table, a slice of bread and jam in front of her, and a cup of milk.

Martha looked up at the footsteps coming down the stairs. "Let me see that hand this morning."

She quickly wiped her hands on a cloth, and then went to take hold of Cole's wrist. Silently, she looked down at his hand, turning it this way and that, looking from all angles.

"Worse bruising?" She commented, glancing up at him.

Cole nodded. He'd noticed that himself.

Meanwhile, Mary still had hold of Cole's other hand, and was staring up at her mother and brother with interest.

"Show me!"

Cole and Martha locked eyes for a moment, and Cole shrugged. He lowered his hand to Mary's eye level and watched her expression.

The little girl frowned, pursing her lips. Then, with a single finger, she reached out and lightly touched one of the raised purple welts scored across Cole's palm.

"It's hard." She remarked, reaching up and pulling his hand closer to his face.

She was right. Overnight, the welts had become more swollen, feeling quite hard and puffy to the touch.

"Did you have an accident?" Mary asked. Looking up at her big brother, her little face full of concern.

Cole glanced at his mother. How much was appropriate to tell them? Martha shrugged and moved away, continuing to cut more slices of bread.

Cole crouched down to Mary's height. "Remember you learnt about getting switched yesterday?"

Mary nodded, her face thoughtful.

"Well, that happened to me at school, because… because I didn't behave myself."

Mary frowned up at him, looking disapproving, "You were naughty?"

Cole nodded, "I guess I was."

Mary's eyes flickered between Cole's hand and his face. She had his hand clasped in hers. Her little fingers unconsciously tickling his swollen and discoloured palm.

"I don't want to get switched at school…" Her bottom lip started to tremble.

Cole immediately gathered up the little girl, lifting her and resting her on his hip, "You won't, don't worry. You're always a good girl."

She put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his ear.

"Not always. Sometimes I get smacks. I don't want switches as well!"

Cole wrapped his arms around the little girl, "They aren't the same thing at all. Don't be worried."

Cole cast his mind around for something that might distract her, "Do you want to sit on the horse later? When I'm home?"

He felt her nod into his neck. Cole carried her over to a vacant chair at the table, and deposited her in it. His mother handed him a plate of bread and jam, and he placed it in front of her.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Over at Green Gables, the Cuthberts – and Gilbert – are getting ready for a new day. Anne is frustrated when plans don't go in her favour.


	20. Chapter 20 - I Need To Know

I NEED TO KNOW

Anne stood in front of her window, brushing her hair, gazing at her tree. The leaves were just starting to change to orange, and the edges just starting to curl and die.

"Oh, tree…" Anne sighed. "You will go out in a fiery blaze… Your final moments will be your most magnificent…"

She reached out through the open glass, and stroked her hand along the nearest branch.

"Farewell, sweet love…"

She closed the window and put the hairbrush down.

"ANNE!" Came a call from downstairs.

Anne took one last look at the tree, "Coming!" Then dashed from the room, immediately colliding with Gilbert, just emerging from his.

She bounced off him, causing both of them to fall back into opposite walls with matching thuds.

"ANNE?!" Came Marilla's voice again. "What are you doing?!"

"Nothing! I'm coming!" Anne called back.

She glared at Gilbert, then looked him up and down. He wasn't dressed. He was still in that ridiculous old shirt that Matthew had found from him somewhere. Yet he looked even more peculiar as he was now wearing his boots.

"Why aren't you dressed?!" Anne demanded. She folded her arms across her chest, "You look a fool, by the way."

Gilbert looked around him, as if expecting the rest of his clothes to magically appear.

"That's not very nice, Anne. And besides, I don't have any pants."

"Well, where are they?" Anne asked.

Gilbert craned around Anne, and looked out of the window just behind her. "There." He said, pointing.

Anne turned to look, and sure enough, there was a pair of light brown pants, soaking wet, on the washing line and swinging lightly in the morning breeze.

"Hmmm." Anne mumbled, feeling her cheeks start to blush. She turned away from Gilbert and marched down the stairs. Well aware of the sound of his boots following along behind her.

Entering the kitchen, Marilla was standing over the kettle, and Matthew was already sat at the table, flicking through a newspaper and drinking tea. Both of them looked up at the two pairs of footsteps.

"Good morning Anne. Gilbert." Marilla nodded to Gilbert, who smiled shyly back.

Good morning Miss Cuthbert. Mr Cuthbert."

Matthew cleared his throat and peered at Gilbert over the top of his newspaper.

"Well, Mr Blythe… I trust you slept reasonably?"

Gilbert nodded, "Yes, Sir. Thank you. I did." He then looked over at Marilla, "I suspect the willow bark helped. Thank you. That was kind of you."

Marilla flushed slightly, "Oh, it was no trouble lad… Now, I imagine you're hungry? Some toast perhaps? A sausage? Some eggs?"

Anne watched this exchange with some surprise. She didn't think she'd ever seen Marilla blush. Never mind offering more than one choice at breakfast!

Gilbert also had the good sense to look a little embarrassed. Since his father had died, and for some time prior to that, he'd been fending for himself. Someone else to make him a meal, and offer him a choice, was something he'd not had in a long time.

"Umm… Just some toast would be fine. Thank you."

Marilla gave him a long look, but then put a slice of toast onto a plate, and handed it over to him.

Gilbert stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, holding the plate, and still undressed.

"You can sit down Gilbert." Anne commented, putting herself in a chair and reaching for the teapot.

Gilbert pursed his lips and looked down at his plate, and then at the nearest chair.

"Anne." Matthew suddenly said, "Go into the parlour and get some cushions for your guest to sit on." He said this with almost a half-smile, and caught the boy's eye.

Anne looked up, catching the look of complicit understanding from Matthew, and the look of grateful acceptance from Gilbert.

"Cushions? Ah, yes!"

She pushed back her chair with a clatter and rushed to the parlour.

"Walk, Anne!" Marilla called. That girl is a tornado, she thought to herself.

Anne quickly returned with an armful of cushions, and dumped them down on a chair, before returning to her own.

Gilbert put the plate down, arranged the cushions, then sat down gingerly, hissing slightly through his teeth. Both Matthew and Marilla watched the boy carefully, but tried to hide the fact. They didn't mind admitting that they were worried for him, but didn't want the lad to think that they were unduly concerned.

"Marilla?" Anne piped up, "Shall I help you with the baking today?"

Marilla looked at her, confused. "Of course not. It's a Tuesday. You've got school."

Gilbert and Anne glanced at each other from across the table.

"Oh…" Anne started, "I just thought… After what happened yesterday… I thought Gilbert and I would stay here?"

Marilla looked back down at her toast, "Gilbert will stay out of school for a couple of days. He can help me with the baking. But you're going to school."

Anne dropped her knife in astonishment, "But Marilla! I might be in danger! Matthew!"

She threw an aghast look at Matthew, who shrugged and continued with his paper.

"Nonsense child." Marilla said, "You'll have no trouble at all. Don't be so dramatic!"

"Marilla! You can't do this! After what Mr Phillips did to Gilbert and Cole, you're just going to throw me back in there?! It's like the Romans feeding the Christians to the lions!"

Marilla stared up at Anne, "What rubbish! We'll hear no more about it! Now, eat up, and then get off with you!"

Anne threw one last angry look at Marilla, and an appealing one at Matthew. Both of which got her nowhere. Angrily, she rammed the slice of toast into her mouth and threw her chair back. She grabbed her hat and coat from the hook by the door and stamped out of the house.

Throughout this entire exchange, Gilbert had sat there, his toast forgotten in his hand, and his head turning to face each speaker at a time, watching the fiery exchange, and then watching Anne storm out.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, he stared at his plate and took another bite of toast.

He swallowed, "I don't want to cause any trouble."

Marilla stood, and started gathering plates, "It's no trouble. Besides, an extra hand with the baking is always appreciated."

Gilbert nodded slowly, "I see you washed my pants. Thank you."

Marilla glanced out of the window, seeing them fluttering on the line, "I think I got the… dirt… out. They'll be good as new. I'll fix that broken button for you as well, once they're dry."

Gilbert didn't know what to say. A lump was in his throat. It had been a long time since anyone had done anything like fixing a button for him. He nodded, unable to make eye contact.

At that point, Matthew re-folded his newspaper and pushed his chair back from the table.

"I'll be off out now Marilla. I'm not quite sure what time I'll be back. I'm going to go and visit with Mr Mackenzie, if you remember?"

Gilbert looked up. "Mr Mackenzie? Cole's father? Is Cole alright? Did the doctor look at his hand?"

Matthew nodded, throwing a quick glance at Marilla. "Ah, yes. He's quite well. I need to speak to Mr Mackenzie about… borrowing a cart. Yes. That's it."

Gilbert nodded, frowning slightly. "Oh. Alright."

The Cuthberts left Gilbert sitting at the table, and walked together towards the door. Marilla helped Matthew with his jacket, and then accompanied him out onto the porch, shutting themselves out.

Marilla began to do up Matthew's buttons, "I'm still not sure about this visit to the Mackenzies, Matthew. I may not be much of an expert on children, but I'm sure people don't like others meddling in private business."

Matthew brushed her hands away, "I won't meddle. I just… I just need to know… I've spoken to Mackenzie a few times, and some of the things he says…"

He stared off into the distance briefly. Jerry could just be seen, strolling into view, through the trees. Matthew raised his hand in greeting.

"I just need to know the boy is safe… I need to know…" His words trailed off.

He watched as Jerry got nearer, "Please give Jerry some breakfast before he starts work. He never has enough."

Matthew stepped down off the porch, leaving Marilla there, and walked towards the barn.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Matthew goes to visit Jeremiah Mackenzie.


	21. Chapter 21 - A Lesson Is Owed

A Lesson Is Owed

Matthew pulled on Belle's reins, bringing her to a gentle halt. It was quite a ride to the Mackenzie farm, and Matthew hadn't hurried. He climbed down off the horse, and hitched her to the gate post. He pulled the gate open and entered.

Matthew stood in the farm yard and listened. Often, you could tell where the farmer was, by listening out for sounds. The general rule was, wherever the ruckus was coming from, that's where the farmer would be found. Matthew strained his ears, but couldn't hear anything. Pursing his lips in frustration, he realised he'd have to go and knock at the farm house. Something he'd rather not do. He didn't especially want to draw attention to his visit, or have to face a barrage of questions from the lady of the house.

By this time in the morning, it was almost 10am. Matthew thought to what he'd normally be doing on his own farm at this time of day… Ordinarily, he'd be checking on the cows in the far field…

Matthew shielded his eyes from the sun, and peered into the distance. Sure enough, he could see large, brown shapes moving on the horizon, and all moving in the same direction.

Matthew thought it was worth a look, so went back to where Belle was happily chewing on the grass growing at the foot of the gate. He unhitched her and swung himself into the saddle.

"Hup, girl." He said, and Belle began to move forwards. Matthew kept his eyes on the far-off cows, and guided Belle in that direction.

As he came over the brow of the hill, he could see a figure standing off, under the shade of a tree, gazing towards the cows.

"You there!" Matthew called out. The figure under the tree startled, and turned towards the voice. He saw the figure lift his hand to his brow, to peer over at him, then raise a hand in greeting and start to walk towards him. As expected, it was Jeremiah Mackenzie.

"Matthew Cuthbert! What brings you all the way out here?"

Jeremiah reached Matthew, and stretched up to shake his hand. Matthew stepped down from the saddle and stared at Jeremiah closely. There's was over twenty years in age between them, indeed Matthew had known Jeremiah's father, Francis well. The two of them had been at school together. Matthew even remembered Jeremiah's birth. He'd been born in the midst of a winter snow storm. One of the worst they'd ever had in Avonlea. So bad that the doctor hadn't even been able to attend the birth… Some said that Jeremiah and his mother had both been lucky to survive. Unfortunately, Jeremiah's father, Francis, had died in a hunting accident when Jeremiah was… Perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old…? Gosh, the son now looked very like the father.

Jeremiah flushed slightly, under Matthew's close scrutiny. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Matthew shook his head and laughed slightly, "Apologies Jeremiah. I was just thinking for a moment how much you resemble your father at the same sort of age… I imagine you are now about the age he was when he… passed away?"

A shadow briefly fell across Jeremiah's face. "Close enough."

An awkward pause fell between them.

"What brings you here Matthew?"

Jeremiah was staring at him. His face blank and unreadable. It was a look Matthew had often seen Francis get… It seemed that perhaps Jeremiah and Francis had more in common than just their looks.

Matthew hadn't told Marilla everything about his reason for visiting… Matthew had known enough of the grandfather to know that life for the son had been somewhat brutal… And that there was enough likelihood to think that perhaps life for the grandson was similarly challenging.

Matthew had also been of the view that the hunting accident that befell Francis, may not have been entirely accidental either…

He looped the horse's reins to his wrist, taking a second to rub her nose.

"I just thought I'd come on by to check on Cole?"

Jeremiah furrowed his brow, "Cole? Why?"

"Well, I happened to be passing the school house yesterday afternoon, and walked in on Gilbert Blythe, and Cole I hear, getting a hard time from the school master."

Jeremiah reached up to scratch Belle between the eyes, "Ah, yes. It's been dealt with."

Matthew watched Jeremiah's hand on his horse, strangely feeling like he didn't quite trust the physical contact.

"I spoke with Cole briefly… A strange incident… We've got Gilbert Blythe staying with us at Green Gables for a few days, just until he can manage on his own again."

There was no response from Jeremiah. He just remained, staring up at Belle, scratching her forehead gently.

Matthew coughed, feeling awkward, "Anne told us Cole got some rough treatment? Is his hand recovering?"

"It'll be fine in due course."

The two men stood in silence, both looking at the horse, rather than each other. Matthew was aware of a cool breeze blowing up the hill towards them. He used his free hand to hitch his collar further up his neck.

"And… How is Cole generally…?"

Jeremiah's fingers stopped, mid-scratch. Belle, who had been enjoying the attention, nudged his arm with her head, attempting to jolt him back into it. Instead, his arm dropped back down to his side. He turned slightly, with his head tilted, and looked, cold and hard at Matthew.

"The boy is well, thank you."

Matthew's heart seemed to do an odd heave in his chest. He remembered that cold look from Francis. It was the sort of look that he, as a boy, had given before he'd punch one of the other boys in the school yard.

Matthew nodded, "Good to know, good to know. He seemed pretty upset yesterday and…"

He attempted to match Jeremiah with a cold, direct stare of his own.

"I remember how Francis might have reacted if YOU'D got yourself into bother at school."

The two men stared at each other. Matthew knew that while Jeremiah had the advantage on him in terms of youthful strength and weight, he himself had the advantage of age, and the respect that accorded him.

Jeremiah broke the locked stare first and glanced away with a forced chuckle, "Aye. I'd have felt the back of his hand. That's for sure and certain."

Matthew remained silent. A trick he'd learnt long ago. If you want a man to keep talking, the best thing to do is to stay silent yourself. A man with things on his mind to say, will fill the silence with words. Eventually.

"Aye…" Jeremiah muttered, almost to himself, "It can be a challenge. Raising a boy."

Matthew nodded. Silently.

Jeremiah nodded slowly to himself, seeming to be in his own thoughts. Then he gave a small shake, and glanced at Matthew.

"Anyway, I have work to be getting on with. I'm sure you have your own business to attend to. Thank you for coming to check on the boy. All is in hand."

Matthew flicked the reins back over Belle's head, and put his foot up in a stirrup, ready to mount.

"Glad to hear it Jeremiah… Glad to hear it. Give my best to your wife?"

Jeremiah nodded shortly, and watched as Matthew mounted the horse, turned her, and headed off down the hill.

He watched, without moving, until Matthew had disappeared into the valley, out of sight, then Jeremiah himself started to march down the hill, his thoughts in disarray and his fury mounting. He well knew the reason for the visit and he didn't like to be checked up on.

He knew exactly who would have given that busybody, Matthew Cuthbert, the impression that there was something worth looking into, and that person would soon receive thorough instruction on what happens when they reveal a family's private business.

Jeremiah marched into the barn, his face white with fury. He went straight for the hooks on the wall, where he kept various tools, and snatched down his riding whip. The lesson would be well taught.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Cole and Anne meet up at school. Cole's secret is close to being revealed.


	22. Chapter 22 - Gossip

Gossip

"Cole!"

Cole turned sharply, to see Anne running towards him, her books swinging over her shoulder. He smiled at her, nervous, and let her catch up with him. They were still a few minutes walk from the school.

"I didn't think I'd see you today! Gilbert stayed at Green Gables last night. He's still there."

"Is he?" Cole replied, surprised, "I thought he would get sent home…"

Anne shook her head, "No. Doctor Spencer asked if he could stay because of his…" she cast her mind about for the right word, "Injuries."

Cole nodded, he could see why the doctor might have said that. Granted, he hadn't seen Gilbert's wounds with his own eyes, but he knew enough to understand that he might be out of action for a couple of days at least. Then he remembered the argument he and Anne had had.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you, Anne… I was… embarrassed."

They'd fallen into step with each other. Anne glanced at his hand, then up at his face. Cole was much taller than her, but just at the moment, it felt like she was talking to a tiny child.

"It's alright Cole. I understand."

Cole shook his head, jutting out his lower jaw in frustration. "No. That's no excuse, I know you were just trying to help."

Anne gazed up at him, and seemed to know that words wouldn't do much to help. That embarrassment was just a natural reaction, and he'd get over it in his own time. She just shrugged, and gave him a lopsided smile.

Cole glanced away, and for a moment, the two of them just walked, side by side, along the path. Anne glanced down at Cole's hand again. It wasn't wrapped up, and although he wasn't carrying anything with it, he seemed able to move it fairly freely. She reached out and just grazed his knuckle with a fingertip, making him jump at the unexpected touch.

"May I…? May I see your hand?"

Cole looked down at her for a long moment. Then he remembered some of the things she'd said to him yesterday about her own experiences… She wouldn't be shocked, and she wouldn't make jokes.

Unable to look at her, or watch her expression, he faced forwards, but held his hand out sideways, towards her.

With his jaw clenched, he felt cool, gentle fingers cup underneath his upturned hand, and another hand slowly uncurled and straightened his fingers. Although he couldn't see where she was looking, he could almost feel her gaze burning into his palm.

They stayed, locked together like this for a long moment. Hand in hand.

Anne didn't make a sound. She didn't make a sound because she knew Cole wouldn't want to hear it. She bit her lip hard and glanced briefly up at his face. He was determinedly looking away, avoiding as much contact as he could.

She stared into his ravaged palm, shocked by the sight. She felt as if she sort of knew how his wounds should look, based on her own experiences, but it was shocking to see them on another person… It was oddly easier to tolerate them on yourself, with the knowledge and memory of the pain that had caused them.

Her lips worked silently. Forming them around the words that she couldn't say out loud to Cole. She was always full of so many words. If she'd been writing about the sight in a letter, she'd have talked about the swelling, that made his hand look puffy and weak. She'd have mentioned the blackness of the bruising, in contrast to the paleness of the pink in between the welts. She have described the tiny scabs that covered his palm. She'd have written about the look on Cole's face while the welts were being given to him. She'd have offered her thoughts on his shrieks of pain.

But she said none of this, because she knew Cole already knew everything she might of felt drawn to say. And she understood, from experience, that sometimes it was easier to try and forget.

After a moment, she gently pushed his hand back towards his body, indicating that she was done.

"I'm sorry Cole."

He nodded slowly, and they carried on walking in silence, their feet crunching over the fallen leaves.

"How are your sisters?" Anne suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

Cole glanced down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"They're well, thank you."

Anne paused, "Did they see… Did you tell them what happened?"

Cole shrugged, "Little children notice everything. They thought I got bitten by a horse. I've no idea where they got that thought from. But… I showed Mary, she's the older one, later on. Perhaps I shouldn't have done. I don't know."

Anne frowned, deep in thought. She wasn't necessarily a believer in keeping secrets. "I imagine they'd have found out. When I worked at the Hammond's, I found that the little ones understand more than you think. They notice things as well. Things you'd rather they didn't know."

Cole looked down at her, his eyes widening in something like shock, "There are lots of things I'd rather they didn't know! I make sure they don't know! I keep it secret from them! They never see! I…" He trailed off suddenly, his mouth open and his eyes sweeping from side to side in panic.

Anne stopped abruptly in the middle of the path. "They never see what? What, Cole?"

Cole's eyes were still sweeping the wooded path behind Anne's head, but without appearing to really see anything. His mouth was moving silently, as if he were articulating some silent, awful thoughts.

"Cole! Stop it! What's the matter?!"

Suddenly, his apparent agitation started to calm. He began to look around with more focus, then, with a furrowed brow, he looked down at Anne.

"Just… Nothing. Nothing's the matter. Sorry, I… I had a thought."

"A thought? What about? About your sisters?"

He shrugged, "They probably have secrets from me as well…" Then he smiled ruefully, "But their secrets are probably about where they've hidden some pieces of candy."

Anne looked up at him thoughtfully, "It's alright to have secrets Cole. I think… I think everyone has them. I'm sure yours aren't so bad. Whatever they are."

Cole's shoulders sagged and he sighed deeply.

"We better hurry. I don't especially want to upset Mr Phillips today. I've seen enough of him, quite frankly."

"You've seen enough of him?" Anne's eyes shot open with realisation. "Did you see him last night?"

Cole started to walk briskly, leaving Anne almost having to jog, in order to keep up with him.

"Yes. We saw him. Papa and I."

Anne squirmed inside, this sounded like it was going to be good gossip.

"You saw him?!" She cried, aghast. "What happened?!"

Cole frowned thoughtfully, "Did you know he had a niece?"

"A NIECE?" No! Where? Living with him?!"

Cole nodded, "Yes! A little girl. Her name's Sarah. She's seven or eight I think she said. She's starting in the class with the little ones next week!"

Anne puffed out her cheeks in amazement, that WAS good gossip.

"Well, I'd never of thought it! How… How IS HE with her? Heaven knows, he's not so good with children…"

Cole smirked in agreement, "True. But actually he WAS good with her. He seemed to really LOVE her!"

Anne sniggered, then cringed. Anything to do with adults and love. Urgh.

Continuing, Cole said, "He didn't get in any trouble either. With Papa. Because Sarah was there."

Anne was puzzled, "What do you mean, trouble? Did your father pay for the window? What else happened?"

Cole suddenly paused, was he saying too much? He bit his lip.

"Umm… Papa took a switch of his own with us to Mr Phillips' house. He… was going to use it!"

"WHAT?!" Anne shrieked. This gossip was too good to believe.

"YOUR father was going to BEAT Mr Phillips?!

Anne then started to roar with sudden laughter. She clutched her sides and bent double, tears of hysterical mirth pouring down her face.

Despite himself, Cole started to laugh as well.

"Yes!"

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Cole and Anne arrive at school, and Cole wishes he'd stayed at home.


	23. Chapter 23 - A Return To The Scene

A Return To The Scene

Anne and Cole were still giggling as they made their way around the corner and arrived at the school.

"Anne! Cole!" a voice called.

They both looked around, to see Diana and Ruby coming down the path just behind them.

Diana came straight to Cole and put her hand on his shoulder, "It's good to see you Cole. How are you?" She smiled at him kindly.

Cole smiled at the two of them, "I'm feeling a lot better, thank you Diana. It's still a bit sore, but it'll be fine again soon. Thank you for helping me by the stream."

He briefly flashed his open palm at the two girls, and they both stared, shocked, at the black bruising across the width of his palm.

Ruby smiled up at him first, "We were happy to help, Cole. I'm glad you're better."

The four of them, Cole, Anne, Ruby and Diana stood awkwardly for a moment. Then there was a small cough from behind Cole. They all turned towards the sound, and there was Billy Andrews. For once, he was all alone, and had the good sense to look a little shamefaced.

Making eye contact with Cole, but looking embarrassed, Billy took off his cap and then began twisting it awkwardly in his hands.

"Hello Cole. I… I wanted to say…" He glanced at the girls, willing them to disappear. Yet they all stood there smirking, sensing they were about to witness something unlikely to ever repeat itself again. Billy Andrews apologising for something.

He started again. "Last night Prissy told our parents what happened yesterday… With the clay, and you and Mr Phillips… And Gilbert. Father told me that I owed you an apology and… and that… and that I should have got switched instead of you, and that I would have deserved it. So… I just wanted to say that I was very sorry and… It won't happen again. Father has sent me with some money…"

Billy put his hand in his pocket and rattled some coins. "Father has sent me with some money to give to Mr Phillips to pay for the window. He said that he didn't want Prissy to start a marriage with her family already owing a debt."

The three girls and Cole had listened to this short speech with considerable enjoyment.

"Well, Billy Andrews." Said Anne, her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face.

"I hope you've learnt a lesson from this! Frankly, I'd LIKE to see you get switched for it as well! It would serve you right! Wouldn't it Cole?"

Cole stared hard at Billy, and then shrugged, "I don't think anyone is better for it, to be honest. It's rather barbaric."

Anne made a face at Cole. "Even so. A taste of his own medicine might do him good!"

A silence fell over the group. Most of them staring at Billy with a mixture of annoyance and disgust. Apart from Cole, who was just looking at him as if he were a slightly challenging math puzzle. Billy meanwhile, could meet no one's gaze, and alternated between looking at the cap in his hands, and gazing somewhere over Cole's right shoulder.

Eventually, Cole broke the silence, "You won't need the money Billy. The window has already been paid for. My father paid for it last night… We should probably just go inside."

Billy frowned, then nodded furiously, turned on his tail and ran up the steps into the building. Cole and the three girls followed at a more sedate pace.

As the four of them entered behind Billy, everyone in the room turned to stare as Cole came into view. Moody came over and clapped him on the shoulder, "Glad you see you back Cole!"

Cole nodded, embarrassed by all the eyes on him. But he knew that he and Gilbert would have been the topic of conversation in every house in Avonlea last night.

Moody stood with him, while I hung up his jacket and cap, "Have you seen Gilbert this morning? Is he alright?"

Cole shook his head, "I've not seen him since yesterday. He's staying at Green Gables with the Cuthberts."

Moody digested that information for a moment, then turned and dashed toward Anne.

"Anne! Gilbert is staying with you?! How is he? Is he alright?"

Cole watched from the doorway as Anne held court in the middle of the classroom. A situation that was infinitely preferable to all eyes being on him. And frankly, Gilbert's actions yesterday had been a whole lot more dramatic than Cole's own. Cole puffed out his cheeks and sighed. He'd rather forget all about it anyway.

With the eyes finally off him for a moment, he picked up his bottle of milk from the bench, and went to place it outside in the stream.

He crouched down next to the stream and put his bottle in the cool running water. The water looked especially cold this morning, and, remembering how soothing it had felt on his hand yesterday, he placed his hand into the water again; savouring the numbing sensation that quickly overtook the dull, heavy ache.

"Mr Mackenzie?"

The sudden voice startled him, and in his attempt to pull his hand from the stream, and stand up at the same time, he lost his footing and tumbled, face down, into the stream.

Fortunately, the stream was neither deep, nor fast-moving, so Cole was in no particular danger. But a hand grabbed hold of the collar at the back of his shirt and pulled him upwards, out of the water. Coughing and shivering with the sudden icy water now soaking through his shirt, Cole turned to see who had spoken, and then had pulled him from the water.

Mr Phillips.

"Mr Mackenzie?! What on earth were you doing?! Now look at you! You're soaking wet!"

Cole wrapped his arms around his body, trying to maintain some heat and his teeth starting to chatter.

"I… was… cooling… my… hand… in… the water." He managed to blurt out, through his clenched jaw.

Mr Phillips paused a moment, then began to rub his hands briskly up and down Cole's folded arms.

"Get inside. Quickly. Go and sit by the stove."

He turned Cole, and gave him a light push between the shoulder blades, towards the steps.

"Go. Get in."

Cole needed no further persuasion and dashed as fast as his steadily freezing legs would take him, up the steps and into the building.

At the sound of the hurrying feet and the banging door, once again, all the faces in the room turned as one to look at Cole, and Mr Phillips, who followed him in shortly after.

"Mackenzie! Sit by the stove!"

Cole ignored the confused faces and hurried straight to the stove, sitting down on the floor next to it, and putting his back as close to it as he dared. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them.

"Take your seats class!" Mr Phillips called out.

"Please desist staring at Mr Mackenzie! He will sit there and dry out."

He came forward and addressed Cole directly, "I suggest you take your shirt off for a time to dry. I can hang it up in the store room."

He held his hand out to Cole, waiting for the shirt.

Cole stared at the floor, his head shaking rapidly from side to side.

"No."

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Why is Cole so reluctant to remove his shirt? He shares his secret with someone unexpected. Someone with a similar story to tell.


	24. Chapter 24 - An Opening

An Opening

All eyes in the room were staring at Cole, including Mr Phillips.

They watched in confusion as Cole hugged his legs to his chest and started to rock back and forth. His back making occasional contact with the hot stove, causing a tiny hiss of steam each time, as the wet fabric made contact with the hot metal.

But more disturbing, was the look on Cole's face. His eyes were locked on the floor and his head continued to shake rapidly from side to side; his lips were open in a silent "o". No one knew if he was half way through saying something. But everyone HAD heard his quiet, almost whispered, "No", when Mr Phillips had asked him to remove his shirt.

Anne stood. Something about the look on his face jolted something in her memory from earlier. When they had been talking about secrets, and a secret Cole was keeping from his sisters? This look he had now, was the same as he had then. Panicked, confused, frightened.

She caught Mr Phillips' eye and made a "may I?" gesture towards Cole.

Mr Phillips shrugged and moved away.

"Class! Sit down! Open your readers!"

Anne moved towards Cole and sat down on the ground right in front of him. She placed her hands on his knees and leaned her face towards his.

"Cole? You need to move away from the stove a bit. Your back keeps touching it. It'll burn."

There was no real response from Cole, but the rocking lessened marginally.

"Cole! Move away!" She slapped his knee sharply.

Cole's eyes flicked upwards, meeting Anne's, and a glimmer of understanding showed there. He dropped his hands from his legs and used them to push himself a couple of inches further away from the stove, towards Anne. He then immediately clapped his hands back around his legs and drew them in tighter to his chest.

"Cole? Why are you so upset? Look at me." Anne whispered. She knew if he was to say anything, it wouldn't be something he'd want the others to know.

Cole glanced around the classroom. Already, the other children had lost interest in him, and were busy shuffling into position, opening their books, and looking expectantly up at Mr Phillips, who was now standing at the front of the room.

"I can't take my shirt off." He whispered, looking up at Anne, and shaking his head some more.

Anne was confused, "Why not? Is it too hard to do the buttons with your sore hand? I… I don't mind helping you."

He shook his head again. "That's not what it is."

"Then what is it? Cole? Let me help you!"

Cole then threw his body forwards, towards Anne, who jolted backwards in surprise, rolling onto her back with a cry.

The whole classroom, including Mr Phillips, turned in surprise towards Anne's thump and cry. Cole pushed himself up to his feet and bolted for the door, throwing it open and running down the steps.

"Cole! Anne!" Mr Phillips shouted, as Anne got to her feet, winded, and turned to follow Cole.

"BE QUIET!" She screamed back at Mr Phillips. "This is all because of YOU!"

She ran for the open door, leaving the stunned room in her wake, and followed after Cole, who was already disappearing around the corner.

"COLE! Wait! You're soaking wet! You'll freeze!"

Sure enough, Cole was running increasingly stiffly. His arms and legs struggling against the cold, brought on by the icy and wet fabric right next to his skin. He was slowing down, and Anne was able to reduce down to a jog, until he eventually came to a stop, leaning up against a tree and hugging his arms around himself. He was shivering violently, his lips turning blue.

Anne looked up at his white face and immediately slipped her own jacket off, and encouraged Cole to put it on instead. And although it was far too short in the body and sleeves, it fit him well enough around the middle. He stood there passively, and allowed Anne to button it up for him and then slip her arm through his.

"We're not so far from Green Gables… Why don't you come home with me for a bit? You can dry out. We can check on Gilbert. Marilla and Matthew won't mind…"

With a gentle pull on Cole's arm, she got him moving again, and silently guided him all the way down to Green Gables, keeping his arm tucked against hers, and keeping her body as close to his as she dared. They both needed the shared heat. She was without a jacket, and Cole was wet-through.

As they approached the farm, they could see Matthew and Jerry sitting on the porch – tin cups in their hands. Jerry spotted them first, and Anne saw him point and say something to Matthew, who shielded his eyes against the sun and looked over at them. He stood, and after making a "stay there" motion at Jerry, started to slowly walk towards them.

Matthew stared at the two children. Master Mackenzie appeared to be wearing Anne's jacket, and she had his arm clutched in hers, as if her life depended on it. Both of them looked scared and pale, and Master Mackenzie looked positively deathly. What on earth had happened now!?

"What is the matter? It's barely mid-morning. I've only just got back myself from visiting… the neighbours."

Matthew stopped himself just in time. Looking at Cole now, it seemed unwise to mention that he'd just returned from seeing his father.

Cole gazed ahead blankly, his teeth audibly chattering, and Anne looked disturbed.

"Cole fell in the stream and… he…" Her words trailed off. Normally, she would have all the words to describe the strange scene at the stove, but it didn't seem right to say them with Cole right there.

Matthew stared hard at Cole. There was that look again. That look he'd seen before in the eyes of people with secrets. This time though, he'd find out what it was. But, for the time being, he'd play jolly. There was no need to burden Anne with them. The poor lass knew enough about the world already, that she didn't need to know about any more of its darker sides.

He clapped his hands together briskly, "Ah well. A bit of stream water never did anyone any serious harm! I'll take Cole in the barn, it's lovely and warm in there with the sheep. Anne, you go and boil a kettle for some hot drinks, find Cole a fresh shirt – take one of mine – and then knock and wait before you come into the barn."

He gave Anne a long stare, hoping that she'd get the message that HE would get to the bottom of Cole's issue, but that he might need time and privacy to do so.

Anne stared into Matthew's eyes for a long moment, and then nodded. "I'll do that. It might… take me a while though…?"

Matthew nodded, satisfied. She'd got the message. "Take as long as you need. No hurry."

Anne let go of Cole's arm and began to stroll towards the house, leaving Cole standing there, rather awkwardly.

Matthew approached him slowly, and without touching him, began to shepherd him towards the open barn door.

"We'll go and get you warmed through, shall we?"

Nodding, Cole let Matthew guide him in, and seat him down on a hay bale, wrapping an old horse blanket around his shoulders.

"Now then lad. What you doing falling in streams? Seems rather daft for an October morning. Wouldn't you think?" Matthew deliberately put a joking, teasing element into his voice. Accusations and questioning wouldn't help.

Cole held the horse blanket tight around his body. The teeth chattering was already starting to lessen.

"I didn't mean to fall in."

Matthew nodded, "I don't doubt it. What were you doing though?"

Cole looked up at Matthew properly, for the first time, and studied his face. He couldn't help but think that Mr Cuthbert had a kind look. He was quite a lot older than his own father though. Cole remembered the kindness Mr Cuthbert had shown him yesterday. He hadn't even thanked him for turning up at the school when he did.

"I… I was cooling my hand in the water."

He held up his palm to Matthew, who leaned forward and thoughtfully stared at the boy's hand. He nodded, frowning slightly.

"It still looks quite sore… I imagine it aches eh? Feels heavy? Like it's not quite YOUR hand?"

Cole nodded eagerly, "That's right. Just like that. How… did you know that?"

Matthew paused, then half-chuckled. "I'm not that old yet. I remember what it was to be a lad your age. I had my own fair amount of bother at school."

"Did you? I didn't know that. Mr Phillips isn't so bad… No one ever really gets bad punishments like Gilbert and I got yesterday. Normally, it's just lines on the board, or a detention."

"Aye? Well. I wasn't terribly academic you see? That got me into no end of trouble."

Cole looked at him for a long moment, thinking.

"That's rather unfair. That wouldn't have been your fault."

Matthew nodded, "Aye, true. But times were different back then, and… my school master wasn't a nice man. Look at this."

Cole looked. Matthew had leaned towards him and was pointing into his own left palm. At first, Cole saw nothing, but as he looked longer, he started to see thin white lines crossing all over his palm. Some running parallel to each other, some crossing over others.

"What are those marks?" Cole asked, pointing at a section of Matthew's hand, at the base of his thumb, where the flesh was particularly marked and knotted.

"Scars." Matthew said quietly, running his fingers over his palm.

"Scars? Scars from what? A switching like mine? Will mine go like that?!"

Matthew shook his head, "Yours won't go like that… These are from switches, yes. But many, many of them. Over years. Sometimes when old ones hadn't healed. Sometimes more than once in a day. Even broke some bones in my hand a couple of times."

Cole's eyes widened in shock. "That's terrible! Your teacher shouldn't have done that! Surely that would be against the law!"

Matthew shrugged, his eyes on Cole's face. "Times were different then… I wasn't any more than your age… I was too scared to tell anyone I was being hurt like this. Sometimes… it can be hard to speak out when someone has hurt you… Sometimes, you don't want them to get into trouble themselves, even though that sounds like madness… There are these ones as well…"

Matthew stood and turned around, his back to Cole. He untucked his shirt, and lifted his jacket slightly, showing his lower back. He heard Cole gasp.

The scars were well-faded now, but still clear to see if you knew what to look for. He glanced over his shoulder, back at Cole.

"My school master didn't much care where he hit… Wherever he could reach sometimes."

He paused for a second, re-tucking his shirt and sitting back down. He had Cole's complete attention. "Sometimes… Even people who love you can do terrible things to you. Things they shouldn't."

Cole nodded and shrugged, "I guess that's true. It must be sad."

Matthew cursed inside. Cole hadn't taken the bait. He hadn't seen the opening. Or if he had, he'd chosen to ignore it. Or there was nothing to know…

"Aye. It is very sad… You know? I remember your grandfather at school. Francis Mackenzie. He and I were a similar age… He died long before you were born."

Cole nodded and sat up a little straighter, "I've heard of Grandfather Mackenzie. He got killed by accident when he was hunting. When Papa was young."

"That's true. He did. He certainly got himself into some scrapes at school, your grandfather. Bit of a fighter if I remember rightly… and… and he was tough on your father, when he was a young lad like you… He certainly took no nonsense from Jeremiah. He used to be quite hard on him…"

Cole glanced away, "Oh."

Cole had maintained eye contact all the way through the conversation, until now… Matthew noticed his gaze move away… Was he starting to understand?

"Yes… Francis… God rest his soul… could be a hard man to like. A few things I saw and heard, between him and his boy – your father – gave me cause for concern… I think he had a lot of pain inside…"

Matthew shook his head, almost to himself – remembering.

"He beat that lad black and blue sometimes… I remember. Didn't try and hide it either. You'd see your father, as a lad, round about the place with two eyes as black as spilled ink. Poor lad…"

Matthew let himself lapse into silence. If Cole was going to say anything, it would be now. If not now, probably never.

He watched Cole out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be deep in his own reminisces as he gazed up at the hay loft.

Cole's face was completely expressionless. He was staring at Matthew's hands, which he'd purposely left lying, palms up, in his lap. Then slowly, he started to move.

To begin with, he pushed the horse blanket from his shoulders, letting it fall in a puddle behind him on the hay bale. Then he stood and turned his back to Matthew. His hands, shaking, going to the buttons of his shirt.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Cole finally reveals the secret he has been carrying all this time…


	25. Chapter 25 - By His Stripes

_*Reader discretion is advised. This following chapter should be considered to have an 18+ rating due to a historical setting, fictional account of child abuse. No actual abuse takes place in this chapter - it is just an account of. Yet that may still be considered triggering or upsetting for certain audiences. Again, personal discretion is advised._

By His Stripes

Matthew watched the boy's back with a mounting mixture of interest and concern. What was the lad doing? What was he going to show?

With all the buttons finally undone, Cole stood there for a long moment. Matthew could see his shoulders heaving up and down with anxiety.

Eventually, Cole wiggled his shoulders, and the shirt started to slide down his back.

Matthew's hand flew to his mouth, in a physical attempt to stop an audible gasp coming out. He stared at Cole's back in shock. Cole's scars were far worse than Matthew's own. They were white and faded, clearly from some time ago, but still very apparent. They criss-crossed, intersecting each other from his shoulder blades, down to his hips. By the way the scars lay, some crossing over others, they were either the result of one particularly savage beating, or many lesser ones – over time.

Matthew sighed heavily and shook his head. The lad was still young and slim. His back didn't yet have the muscle of an adult male, to absorb this sort of attack. He could have been crippled.

Cole still had his back to Matthew, his arms by his sides, and his shirt tangled around his wrists. He could almost feel his heart about to burst out of his chest with nerves. This was a point of no return. He'd never shown any one this before. Not even his sisters, even though he shared a bedroom with them. He'd made a point never to let them see. When he'd taken them down to the lake in the summer, to swim, he'd strip the little girls down to their underwear, but he'd always kept a shirt on.

After the beatings from his father, he'd be sent to his bed. His mother would come up some hours later, clean him up and cover him with a sheet. The girls were told he was poorly, and wasn't to be disturbed. Cole could never even look at them. He'd keep his face to the wall and pretend to be asleep. He could feel them looking at him, with their confused little faces. Then they'd put themselves to bed, fully clothed, because they couldn't manage their dress buttons on their own.

After a long moment, Matthew reached forward and began to gentle pull Cole's shirt back up, covering his scars. He sat back down on his own hay bale, and waited, his thoughts whirring, while Cole re-fastened the buttons.

Cole turned to face Matthew, and sat back down, breathing audibly and sucking on his lower lip, awaiting the questioning he knew was coming.

However, Matthew was feeling completely unsure about the line of questioning that should follow… He found his mind racing back to when he had first told Marilla, and then their own father, about what was happening to him… How had his father responded? What had he said? What was his tone like?

He found though, that the main memory of that time was the feeling within himself. A mix of worry, confusion and relief. Perhaps it didn't matter so much what he said, but that it was more important how the lad proceeded from here.

Matthew leaned back on his bale and crossed his legs.

"Those scars are quite bad, lad… I wouldn't expect to see ones like that on a boy your age? What caused them?"

Cole stared at Matthew for a long moment, then looked down at his knees. He spoke in almost a whisper. Matthew, with his poor hearing, had to lean right forwards to hear him.

"There's a whip for the horses, hanging on a nail in the barn."

Matthew nodded, "I see… But if it's for the horses… How did it come to be used on you? I'm pretty sure and certain you aren't a horse, are you lad?"

The bad joke almost raised a smirk from Cole. Matthew saw the muscles in his face twitch, and considered that a good sign.

"Well?"

Cole's face froze, he was completely expressionless.

"I guess I did something wrong…?"

Matthew tilted his head to one side, confused. The lad didn't seem to know what he'd done to earn these beatings…? But then again, Matthew considered, he'd never really done anything to earn his either.

"You guess? It must have been pretty bad… Who did it? Your father?"

Cole nodded shortly. Matthew figured as much. If Jeremiah was anything at all like Francis, his own father, he'd had no sort of model in parenting himself. In fact, Jeremiah probably had his own scars, likely from the same whip. Matthew would almost feel confident to gamble on it.

"Hmmm…" Matthew said, "Can you tell me about what happened?"

There was a long silence in the barn. All they could hear was the quiet shuffling and bleating of the sheep as they moved and shifted around their pen. Matthew prayed internally that Anne would have the good sense to stay away a little longer.

Cole folded his hands in his lap, and glanced up at Matthew, checking his audience was ready. He took a deep, slightly shaky breath.

"When Papa is angry… He calls me to the barn after dinner… The girls don't know why. They think we go and do work together… He… he tells what I did and then I have to take my shirt off…"

He looked at Matthew, who was nodding along thoughtfully, doing his best to try not to look too disturbed.

Cole continued, "There's a post between the horse stalls that goes up to the ceiling. It's not too wide, so I can reach around it. I have… I need to stay holding it and stay standing up. Then…"

Cole shrugged, "Papa whips me until he's finished."

He looked up at Matthew, his face suddenly determined and proud. "I never make any noise though. Never. I can stay silent."

"Is there blood?" Matthew asked quietly.

Cole nodded, "That's why there are scars. There's always some blood. That's why Mama cleans it up before the girls see me."

"How many times have you been beaten like this Cole?"

Cole thought about this for a long moment, gazing into the distance, and then he shrugged, as if he couldn't remember.

"Lots. Since I was quite young."

Matthew shut his eyes for a moment, "How young?"

Cole shrugged, "Maybe ten or eleven?"

"How often does this happen Cole? How frequently?"

Cole's bottom lip suddenly trembled alarmingly. "A few times a year. Not so many. But… but one time… I wasn't healed properly before it happened again. That was the worst one."

Matthew shook his head sadly, "And when did that happen?"

"Probably about a year ago? It was during harvest time, so I didn't have to miss any school. No one ever knew."

"I see…"

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Anne returns and takes Cole up to the house. Matthew digests what he has heard and reflects on his own relationships.


	26. Chapter 26 - Shared

Shared

Matthew sat for a moment and digested Cole's information. This was more than he'd thought, and in some ways, far worse than his own experiences. At least he, Matthew, had a family that he could eventually share with what was happening. A family that, ultimately, protected him. Cole however, was being betrayed by the people who should be protecting him. Who would stand up for him? Clearly his own mother couldn't or wouldn't. His baby sisters were just that, babies. And as for Jeremiah… He was the one Cole needed to be protected from. Who did that leave? There was nobody…

But… Matthew thought to himself. There's me. If not me, then who? If not now, then when?

Then a hesitant knock came at the barn door. Matthew looked up in relief, God bless Anne, she'd judged it just right. They all needed to get a break from this situation.

"Come!" Matthew called out, and both he and Cole turned to look, as Anne opened the door and peered around the edge.

"Are you ready for some tea? Marilla says come and get it from the kitchen."

Her intelligent eyes flicked between Matthew and Cole. She could sense that a conversation had taken place, but what? When she focused on Cole, she was pleased to see that he looked calmer, although still rather shaken. Whatever Matthew had said to him must have made some difference.

"Cole?" Matthew said, "You go with Anne for some tea. I'll be along presently… I'll just… feed the sheep before I come."

Cole looked right at Matthew, holding his gaze for a long moment, "Thank you Mr Cuthbert."

Matthew looked away, feeling embarrassed, "Off you go, lad."

He watched as Cole stood, carefully tucked his shirt tails into his pants, and followed Anne out of the barn. Matthew listened, and could hear Anne cautiously asking Cole if he felt better. Cole murmured something in reply, which Matthew's older ears could no longer hear, as the children got further away.

Matthew put his hands behind him, and leant back on the hay bale. He looked around him and puffed out his cheeks, his mind racing. His eyes were drawn to his own horse whip. Just like Cole had said, hanging on a hook next to the door. Every farm has horses, and every farm with horses has a whip. Matthew stared hard at the whip, studying the aged and braided leather. It had, and never would, ever occur to him to raise it to a person, and certainly never to a child. Granted, he had not had a child until fairly recently, when Anne, and then Jerry arrived but… Matthew shuddered at the thought. He stared at the whip… The thought of even considering taking it to either of them filled him with loathing and a strange sort of fear. He could imagine the scene, thanks to the description Cole had given, but just the thought of it made his insides twist in disgust.

Matthew closed his eyes and turned his head away. How could Jeremiah's mind ever reach a point where his behaviour was acceptable? Was he so damaged? Had his own childhood been so disturbed, that he was simply playing out the only way he knew to act around his own son? His first-born son, whom he should treasure and adore, was little more than an animal he owned. Something to use, abuse, and ultimately discard. Had his own life with Francis been so wholly nightmarish?

Matthew kept his eyes closed, and leaned back further on the bale, letting his mind wander and trying to find an avenue for the adrenaline to leave his system.

"Matthew?" a soft voice asked, with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes shot open, and he looked into the concerned face of his sister. He looked up at her, silently, for a moment, and then shook his head, his eyebrows raised.

Marilla sat down on the bale next to her, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

"Anne said you and Cole were having a conversation? What about?"

Matthew looked up at the roof, his face twisting between frustration and sadness. His eyes glanced over towards the whip by the door, and he quickly looked away again. He'd have to move it to a new home.

Marilla saw the movement of his eyes, tracking them towards the whip and back again. If she'd learnt anything from her life with Matthew, she'd learnt to understand what he didn't say. Where did his eyes go? What was his body language saying?

She looked again at the whip, making sure Matthew noticed where her attention went. Then she looked back at her brother, her face questioning.

The two Cuthbert siblings locked eyes for a long moment. Matthew read the question on her face and nodded shortly. It was what she thought.

"Oh Matthew…"

He nodded again.

Marilla sighed deeply. "That poor child… What did he tell you?"

Matthew sat up again, wrapping his hands around his knees and sagging forwards. He began to talk.

"His father has a whip, much like that one." He gestured towards the whip by the door.

"And for whatever reason, Jeremiah sees fit to whip the lad until he draws blood. I saw the scars Marilla. He's… he's… just a little boy."

Matthew Cuthbert wasn't one for emotion, but he furiously swiped his hand across his eyes, and then ran his fingers through his hair. Marilla took hold of his hand, and held it in her own, her thumb unconsciously tracing the faded scars that tracked across his palm.

"I… I found It made me think of Anne… and Jerry. They are Cole's age. I could never… I could never do that! They are children! Whatever they may do wrong, no person is deserving of that!"

Marilla shushed him with a tap on the wrist, "Of course not, Matthew Cuthbert! Put that thought far from your mind! It's far too awful to consider!"

He nodded, "Aye, of course it is. But you think of your own, don't you? Your own children?"

Marilla glanced up at him, surprised. She'd never heard Matthew refer to either Anne, or Jerry, as his own children before. She did not know that Matthew had considered Anne to be his, since the day he retrieved her from the station, the day she ran away.

"You would never hurt a fly, Matthew. You know that."

He nodded, "I know. But that poor boy has been through so much. You should have seen his scars Marilla. You should have seen them."

Marilla had no further words of comfort. She simply held his hand and waited. A simple gesture, which she had first used when she saw Matthew's own scars and bruises. The only gesture she could offer, to help soothe his pain.

She would try and do the same thing now. As she had spent a life time doing.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Anne and Cole are reunited with Gilbert.


	27. Chapter 27 - For You I Will

For You I Will

Anne and Cole made their way up to the house. Cole was still shivering slightly, his shirt still damp from his tumble into the stream.

"Marilla found you a shirt of Matthew's to wear."

"Oh. Thank you."

They stepped up onto the porch and entered the house to see Gilbert standing at the sink, up to his elbows in soapy water, still dressed in Matthew's ridiculously large shirt. Anne's eyes involuntarily scanned up and down his body.

Gilbert turned at the sound of the door, and smiled at Cole in welcome

"Cole! How are you? Miss Cuthbert has put a fresh shirt for you in the parlour."

Cole found himself smiling back, "I'm good, thank you Gilbert. A bit cold."

The two boys just stood and looked at each other for a long moment, before Cole turned and headed off towards the parlour.

Anne leaned awkwardly on the wall and gazed at Gilbert, who had turned back to the sink and was now rubbing a cloth around a bowl. He felt her eyes on him and glanced over.

"Alright there?"

She nodded, embarrassed to have been caught staring. "What have you been doing all morning?"

Gilbert jokingly wiped his forearm across his face, as if wiping off sweat.

"I've been worked to the bone. I've mixed cake batter, I collected some eggs, and now I'm washing the dishes. Is that enough? What have you done this morning? Apart from bring Cole back again? Did you even make it to school today? Mr Phillips will forget what you look like."

Anne glared at him. "Excuse me? But I DID get to school. Then Cole fell in the stream and needed fresh clothes."

Gilbert shrugged, "Why didn't he just go home?"

Anne glanced over her shoulder towards the parlour. No sign of Cole.

"He behaved very strangely… Mr Phillips suggested he take his shirt off to dry, and he got very upset at that idea. I… I just got the impression he needed some help…"

Gilbert frowned, "He wouldn't take his shirt off…? That's… odd."

He looked down at the sink of water, running his fingers through the hot water. "I wonder why…?"

Anne shrugged, "I don't know. But it's something. He's just been talking to Matthew in the barn about whatever has upset him."

"Talking to Mr Cuthbert? Hmmm." Gilbert gazed out of the window, looking towards the barn. His brow furrowed, and clearly thinking hard.

Then there were footsteps behind them, and they both turned to see Cole re-entering the kitchen, wearing a large striped shirt. It was an older one of Matthew's, faded and thinning in places. He hadn't tucked it in, as there was far too much fabric. His own shirt was balled up in his hands.

"You can go and peg it on the line if you want?" Anne suggested.

Cole nodded and stepped outside. Gilbert and Anne both watched through the window as Cole walked towards the line, shaking out his shirt and grabbing hold of the bottom corners. They both watched as Cole stretched up and threw it over the line. He took hold of some pegs, and struggled to hold it all in place, as a sudden gust of wind came through. The wind took a hold of the shirt Cole was wearing, and lifted it, swirling it up around his chest.

Both Gilbert and Anne stared harder at Cole. What were those? Cole had his back to them and was wiggling his hips, trying to shake the shirt down again, and keep hold of the one he had not yet pegged on the line.

Anne glanced up at Gilbert, questioning. Gilbert was staring at Cole, his face expressionless and cold.

"Oh, God…"

"Gilbert? What is it? What are those marks on Cole?!"

Gilbert's mouth sagged open, and he glanced at Anne, a look of realisation and horror sinking over his face. He shook his head, frowning.

"They can't be…" he said, almost to himself.

Anne peered at Cole through the window. The wind had died down again and Cole was now pegging up his wet shirt.

"What are they?"

With an effort, Gilbert put his face back to neutral. "I'm not really sure. Probably nothing." He turned his gaze back to the bowl and cloth, and resumed his cleaning.

Anne frowned, doubtful. Those marks were something. Perhaps that's why Cole hadn't wanted to take his shirt off? He's got some strange marks from somewhere… Is something wrong with his skin? Did it not grow properly?

The door clattered and Cole re-entered. "It's getting stormy out there!"

"Is it?" Anne enquired, trying to look innocent.

Gilbert looked over at Cole, fixing him with a thoughtful look. Cole caught the look and stared back, his face puzzled.

"How are you feeling Gilbert?" Cole asked, breaking the odd silence.

Gilbert smiled, "Well, you know, kind of stiff and sore. But I'll recover. I rather miss pants though."

Cole smirked, "I saw yours on the washing line. You and I sure seem to be creating washing around here."

Gilbert nodded and looked away.

"Tea?" Anne asked, moving towards the kettle on the fire. Both boys followed her movement, glad of the diversion.

The kitchen door rattled again at that moment, and Marilla and Matthew both entered the kitchen.

"Come on Anne!" Marilla scolded, "I expected that tea ten minutes ago!"

"Sorry Marilla!" Anne replied, rushing to fetch cups from the shelf and getting tea leaves from the jar. She and Marilla bustled around for a couple of minutes, fetching milk and sugar, and getting all the men settled at the table, including Gilbert and his cushions.

Once everyone was settled with their tea, Matthew turned to Cole. "I'll drive you home in the cart, once you've had your tea."

Cole swallowed, and glanced at Matthew. "Oh, that's not necessary Mr Cuthbert. I'll happily walk. If Anne could return my shirt to school tomorrow…?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, it's no trouble. I'd prefer to drive you. It's quite a walk, and you'll get cold in that thin old thing."

"I'll come as well." Gilbert suddenly said.

As one, the entire company turned to look at Gilbert, who was looking hard at Cole, his face thoughtful and determined.

"Gilbert Blythe, you're in not fit state to ride up in the cart." Marilla commented.

Gilbert acknowledged her with a tilt of the head, "Needless to say, I'd prefer to. Thank you."

Matthew looked at the boy, and caught his eye. He didn't know what had happened while he'd been in the barn with Marilla. But the boy knew. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. He could see the anger and determination simmering below the surface. Well disguised from the women at the table, but Matthew could see it.

"If you wish, lad. If you wish. But you'll need pants. I'm not riding around the town with your legs flapping out for all to see."

Gilbert wrinkled his nose, clearly thinking about his own wounds, but then, with another glance at Cole, nodded his head. His decision made.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Cole, Gilbert and Matthew return to the Makenzie farm.


	28. Chapter 28 - The Return

The Return

"If you'll excuse me, I'll go and get dressed." Gilbert said, pushing himself back from the table awkwardly, sliding off his mountain of cushions.

Marilla gave him a nod, an expression of confusion on her face, and they watched as he left the house, and went to the washing line, to retrieve his pants, which were – fortunately – just about dry. The wind had done them good. Gilbert took a moment to examine them. True to her word, Marilla had got the blood stains out. It was just a shame she hadn't yet had a chance to repair the button.

He put them over his arm and returned to the house. The four others were still sat around the table with their tea, and silently watched, as Gilbert headed up the stairs.

Entering his temporary room, he closed the door behind him and placed the clothing on the bed. His shirt was still draped over the chair, where it had been left last night. Standing in the middle of the room, Gilbert unbuttoned the old shirt of Matthew's father and shrugged his arms out of it. He gathered it, folded it, and left it on the pillow. Standing, naked, in the middle of the room, he felt suddenly vulnerable and child-like. He missed his own father so desperately. While the Cuthbert's had been so terribly kind, he wished his own father had been here to tend his wounds. He wouldn't have been embarrassed. He and his father had been so close. Clinging desperately to each other, after the loss of a wife, and mother.

Despite his bravado, the idea of putting any sort of tight fabric in contact with his backside, filled him with dread. He knew he was in no condition for it, but… He would do what was needed…

He reached behind him, and tenderly touched his cuts. He could feel scabs had formed, and hard thick welts crossing his skin. Craning his neck over his left shoulder, he could just see dark bruising, purple and black, across all the skin he could see.

Sighing deeply, he reached for his pants, and hopped on one leg, and then the other, to put them on. He pulled them up cautiously, yet still wincing as they settled on his tender skin.

He tried a few cautious steps. The fabric rubbed awkwardly, scratching at him. But he found, once the initial irritation passed, it wasn't so bad. It was tolerable.

He put his feet into his boots and left the room, walking carefully down the stairs. Everyone turned to look at the sound of his feet on the steps.

"How do you feel?" Marilla asked, looking at him with some concern.

Gilbert shrugged, "It's not so bad. Feels a bit uncomfortable, but it'll be fine."

He glanced over at Cole, who was watching him with a bemused expression, as if he were wondering why Gilbert could possibly want to accompany him home for no reason.

Cole glanced over at Matthew and stood up. "If you are ready Mr Cuthbert?"

Matthew nodded and pushed his chair back from the table. He stood up. "I'll just get the horse hitched up, then we'll be on our way."

The three of them walked out of the door, letting it slam shut behind them. Anne looked over at Marilla.

"Why is Gilbert going along? Matthew is just taking Cole home."

Marilla kept her gaze fixed on the door, her expression thoughtful, "Oh, he probably just fancied some fresh air. He's been cooped up here with me all day. He needs some time with the men."

However, Anne wasn't stupid. She'd seen Gilbert's expression, and knew it would be costing him to wear pants and walk around, as well as riding up in the cart. There was more to it than just getting some fresh air… She just didn't know what…

Matthew quickly had the horse hitched up, and had loaded the two boys up, both of whom were squeezed on the bench next to him. Gilbert's eyes were fixed ahead, his mouth tight. Matthew, for all he was concerned about Gilbert's intentions, couldn't help but admire him. He was clearly in considerable discomfort, but, for whatever reason, he had decided that coming along with them now was more important.

The three of them rode in silence towards the Mackenzie farm. Belle seemed happy to be stretching her legs, and moved along at a fair old clip, with little prompting from Matthew. She'd already been to the Mackenzie farm once today, so was trotting a familiar path.

In no time at all, they were arriving at the Mackenzie farm. Matthew gave a loud whoa! to Belle, designed to draw the attention of Jeremiah, if he was around…

Sure enough, a head poked out of the barn door, followed by a body. Jeremiah.

Cole jumped down to open the gate, and Matthew drove Belle into the farm yard. Jeremiah stood and watched them, puzzled.

Hello again Matthew. What brings you back so soon? Apart from my boy, it would appear…

He looked at Cole. His face expressionless. Cole took an involuntary step backwards…

Matthew stepped down from the cart, leaving Gilbert up there, to hold Belle's reins.

"The lad took a tumble in the stream at school. Anne brought him to Green Gables, it being closer, for the purpose of drying off, and the lending of a shirt." He gestured over at Cole, who was still wearing one of Matthew's shirts.

"Anne can return the wet one to school tomorrow. It'll be dry by then."

Jeremiah stepped over to Cole and took hold of his shoulder. "Actually, he'll probably not be in school tomorrow."

"Oh aye?" Matthew replied calmly. "You have tasks for the boy here? Perhaps I could send Jerry over to you if you need a lad to help. Seems a shame for yours to miss another day of schooling…?"

Keeping a hand clasped on Cole's shoulder, Jeremiah smiled politely. "That's mighty kind of you Matthew, but actually, his mother is feeling a little under the weather. She'll need help to mind the smaller ones… We'd rather Cole did that. I'm sure you understand?"

"Of course. Little ones need familiarity I'm sure."

Jeremiah nodded.

He and Matthew stared at each other for a long moment. "Right you are then. Gilbert and I will be on our way now."

With that, Matthew climbed back onto the cart, took the reins from Gilbert, and drove out of the farmyard. Leaving Cole and Jeremiah watching after them.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

It's a secret… ;)


	29. Chapter 29 - Blood

*Reader discretion advised. Abusive violence, adult on minor.

Blood

Cole and Jeremiah watched, as Matthew and Gilbert disappeared out of view on the cart. Jeremiah's hand still clasping Cole's shoulder.

"What's wrong with Mama?" Cole asked, looking up at his father.

Jeremiah remained silent, standing at the rapidly disappearing cart.

"Papa?"

Jeremiah said nothing, instead, still holding onto Cole, turned him roughly, and began to march him away, in the direction of the barn. Causing Cole to stumble and fall into him.

"Keep your feet boy!"

"Papa… What's going on?"

Jeremiah didn't answer the question. He merely switched his grip from Cole's shoulder to the top of his arm. Holding him with a tight grip.

Cole began to feel anxious. His father was upset by something, but as yet, Cole didn't know what. He wanted to get away.

He tried to shake his arm out of Jeremiah's grip, and although they were now very nearly matched in height, Jeremiah had a great deal more overall size and strength. The boy could squirm and wriggle all he wanted, Jeremiah thought to himself, but he won't get away.

Still walking, they approached the barn. Jeremiah opened the door and pushed Cole inside, ahead of him. Stepping in himself, he closed the door behind him, and put his back to it, blocking the way.

Cole stood awkwardly in the middle of the barn. Increasingly panicked, he thought he knew what was about to happen. He glanced over to the nail on the wall, where the whip usually hung, yet it wasn't there. Where was it?

Cole scanned all around the barn before seeing it, draped over a railing, next to the post. Then he knew for sure.

"Papa… I haven't done anything wrong… I swear!"

"Oh, aye?" Jeremiah said calmly, his voice icy. "So there's no reason at all why Matthew Cuthbert is coming around here first thing this morning, asking strange questions?"

Cole frantically shook his head, "I don't know! He picked me up from the school yesterday! That's all!"

Jeremiah stared at his son. He knew he was lying. "Nevertheless, you told him something didn't you? Don't you understand that family business is private? How dare you."

He stepped towards Cole, who matched the step with another of his own, backwards.

"I swear Papa! I haven't told him anything! I haven't!"

Jeremiah frowned, his face thunderous. "I don't believe you. You're a disgrace. Take off that ridiculous shirt!"

Cole wrapped his arms around himself and shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes. "No Papa…! Please!"

Jeremiah's voice was cold and quiet. "Do it."

"Papa!"

"Now!"

The tears were freely falling now. Cole simply stood, unable to move, his arms wrapped protectively around his body.

Jeremiah moved towards his son, reaching him in only two or three large steps, and took hold of him. He forced Cole's stiff arms down to this sides, and grabbed hold of either side of his collar. He lifted slightly, pulling the boy up on his tiptoes, forcing him to meet his eye.

"You take it off, or, heaven help you, I'll rip it from your back myself."

He dropped Cole, who, fingers shaking, reached up and began to undo the buttons of the shirt.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah strode over to the railing where the horse whip had been draped earlier, in anticipation, picked it up, and turned to face Cole. He waited patiently while Cole slowly undid the final few buttons.

"Take it off. It's not yours, so hang it up carefully."

Shaking all over, Cole was just able to slip the shirt from his shoulders, and shrug his arms out. Shirtless now, he walked over and hung it on a peg, next to his father's milking coat.

"Here." Jeremiah commanded, gesturing to the post with the whip.

Shivering with cold and anxiety, Cole once more wrapped his arms around his now-bare chest.

"Papa… Please… I haven't done anything…"

Jeremiah gestured again. "Don't make me come for you, boy."

"Please…"

Cole started to protest again. Jeremiah lost patience and went straight to the boy. He took hold of the back of Cole's head, painfully entwining his fingers in his hair, and forced him towards the post. He pushed him towards it roughly, making Cole's face knock violently against the rough wood.

He grabbed hold of Cole's arms and undid them from around his body, pushing them instead around the post.

"You know the routine. Don't move until I tell you, or I will start all over again. Understand me?"

He watched the back of Cole's fair head, so like his own, and noted the tiny nod.

"Yes Sir." A quiet, shaky voice whispered in response.

Jeremiah took a number of steps back and shook out the whip, making it scrape and clatter across the floor, noticing, with a strange fascination, the visible quiver than ran through the muscles of the boy's back, at the sound.

He stood and looked at the boy for a long moment. It was unfortunate that he was so fair, and scarred so easily. In years to come, his wife would no doubt ask about them. What would the boy say? Jeremiah had been luckier in that respect. Although he and Cole were undoubtedly father and son, Jeremiah's own skin was less fair, and he hadn't scarred in the same way. The few scars he had gathered, he'd been able to blame on childish accidents. Perhaps the boy's would fade a little over time.

Jeremiah shook out his shoulder and elbow, raised the whip, and snapped it, right to left, across the boy's shoulder blades. Cole gave a jolt and hissed through his teeth.

Jeremiah waited for him to settle down, then snapped the whip again, this time bringing it a mere two inches below the first cut. Cole immediately clenched his shoulders and raised up on his tiptoes.

He let the whip fall down to his side for a moment, and watched the lad's back. Across his pale skin, two angry red welts had formed. The second had grazed the skin and Jeremiah could just see a small droplet of blood brimming, ready to course down the valley of his spine.

He lifted the whip for a third time, and slammed it across his target. But this time he missed his aim, and the cut intersected the two previous cuts. He knew, from his own experience, that that was intensely painful. A mistake, he hadn't intended that. Yet.

This time, Cole yelped. He rarely made a sound, so this had really hurt him. Jeremiah watched as, this time, a number of trails of blood started up. Startling in their brightness, in contrast with the lad's pale skin.

Jeremiah raised the whip, aiming with more deliberation this time. And with a seasoned flick of the wrist, snapped it in a horizontal line just below the first two. This time causing one of the coursing droplets of blood to fly off Cole's back, landing somewhere in the horse stall.

Raising it for a fifth time, Jeremiah aimed again. He was steadily working his way down the boy's back, from his shoulder blades, to his hips. This time, he stepped into the blow, noting with satisfaction, the whistle and clap the whip made, as it hummed through the air, and snapped again the lad's back.

Then something fell into him from behind, knocking him from his feet, and driving all the air from his body as he hit the floor.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

What, or who, has fallen into Jeremiah?


	30. Chapter 30 - Defence

Defence

Matthew turned Belle away from the Mackenzie farm and out of the gate. Gilbert looked up at him, puzzled, then glanced back at Cole. Cole and his father were walking away together, his father's hand on his shoulder.

"Mr Cuthbert…? Why are we driving away? Something isn't right!"

Matthew didn't immediately reply, his face was set, and he was clearly thinking.

"Mr Cuthbert?"

Finally, Matthew replied, "We're not driving away, we're going to double around the back. You're right, there's something not correct here. But I need Jeremiah to think we're leaving… I… I'm doing the best I can."

Gilbert nodded, and looked ahead. His heart was racing, and all he could think about was the smile on Jeremiah's face. At first glance, it had looked fairly friendly and welcoming, but then he'd said that bit about Cole's mother being ill, and Cole staying home. He was lying. Gilbert could always spot a liar. It was quite a useful skill.

Sitting in silence, Matthew and Gilbert rode the cart to the base of the hill, then came around the base, before going up again on the other side. Matthew pulled Belle up, just before the brow of the hill and jumped down from the cart. Gilbert attempted to do the same, but winced in discomfort as the blood flowed back into his damaged muscles. He'd seized up somewhat on the journey, and climbed down stiffly. Matthew came round to him, and held his arm as he climbed down the final step and got his footing.

"You need to be careful now, lad. I'm not sure what we'll find going on now. Maybe nothing… Maybe something you'll never un-see. Do you understand? You need to be ready?"

Gilbert nodded, "I understand. I'm not scared."

Matthew stared at the boy's determined face. He could clearly see why Anne had a secret soft spot for him. The lad was fearless, and he had a good heart. He found himself being reminded of his older brother Michael.

Together, they began a slow, cautious walk, onto the Mackenzie property. Neither Jeremiah, nor Cole were in sight. Matthew stopped, and used his old trick of standing in silence, and listening for where the noises were coming from.

Both stood, in the middle of the farm yard, and listened. Matthew heard nothing, but all of a sudden, Gilbert's young ears caught something. He turned to Matthew, grabbed his elbow, and held up a single finger, in the universal gesture of "listen!"

They stood even stiller, but Matthew still heard nothing. He looked down at Gilbert, waiting for a signal, clearly his young ears were hearing something he wasn't.

But then Gilbert clearly did hear something. His face suddenly whitened, his jaw dropped open, and he turned on his heel and ran. Straight towards the closed barn door.

With Matthew right behind him, Gilbert threw the door open and they both tumbled through, to be met by a sight neither of them would forget.

Across the other side of the barn, they could see Cole from the back. He was hugging hard onto a post, stripped to the waist, and dripping blood. Four or five dark welts were crossing the width of his back.

Standing about ten feet behind him, was Jeremiah, who raised his arm, and with a well-practised movement, put his weight behind the whip he was holding, and slammed it across Cole's flesh.

Gilbert did not think any further. He ran. He ran straight at Jeremiah, barrelling into his back, sending him sprawling to the floor with a thump.

The whip flew from his hand and spiralled through the air, landing with a clatter some distance off. Gilbert had fallen to the ground on top of Jeremiah, and they were now both sprawled on the ground. Gilbert recovered first, having had the element of surprise in his favour. And with that, he straddled Jeremiah's back, sitting on him, and punched him in the back of the head. Then again, and again.

"Gilbert! Stop!"

Matthew had shouted, which he never did. Gilbert looked over at Matthew, who was striding towards Cole. Gilbert resisted the urge to hit Jeremiah again, and climbed off his back. Jeremiah remained motionless on the ground.

He jumped up, and went with Matthew, straight to Cole.

Cole hadn't moved, even at the sound of his father falling to the floor. His arms were still wrapped around the post, and his head was slumped, his eyes closed.

"Cole?" Matthew gently touched the boy's arm, causing him to jump in alarm, his eyes flying open, and shrinking away from Matthew.

"Cole? Come away now?" Gilbert stepped around the post and took a soft hold on Cole's hands, prising them apart, where he's clasped his fingers together.

"Come on buddy. Let's get you out of here."

He unfolded Cole's arms, and they dropped down by his sides. He took a step backwards, his eyes glazed, and stumbled into Matthew's arms.

Matthew bent down, putting his arms behind Cole's legs, and lifted him, putting him gently over his shoulder. He turned with Cole, and walked out of the barn, Gilbert following behind.

*Author note. I can't thank you all enough for the views and visits to keep up with this story! However, after 30 chapters in as many days, I've got a bit burnt out and need a few days off. I have next week off work, so I'll be back then to start bringing this particular story to an end!

I already have plans for my next Anne of Green Gables story! This time, with Anne and Gilbert front and centre! They've been rather secondary characters in this story, yet I love writing them – especially Gilbert. But I've always preferred writing male characters.

I also have another one in mind, exploring the Cuthbert's back story some more.

Thanks for keeping up with me, and I'll be back next week!

X Coffeeasfood


	31. Chapter 31 - What About Me?

Matthew, Gilbert and Cole left the barn. Matthew had Cole draped over his shoulder, his right arm snaking around his back, to hold Cole's wrist, and the other arm wrapped around the back of Cole's thighs, clamping him tight. The lad was only just conscious, and the last thing Matthew wanted was to drop him.

Gilbert came along behind, just starting to limp. After having run at, and then sat on Jeremiah's back, his pants were starting to stick to his wounds. He could feel that some of them had opened up again and were leaking into his clothes. So much for the freshly washed clothes. He wondered whether Miss Cuthbert would mind washing them again for him. His backside felt hot, wet and uncomfortable. Just putting one foot in front of the other caused the wounds to grate across the fabric.

He followed behind Matthew and Cole as best he could, glad to be behind, so that Matthew couldn't see him wince with every step. He fixed his eyes on Cole, hanging upside down just in front of him. One of his arms was held by Mr Cuthbert, but the other flopped awkwardly, his hand slapping into the back of Mr Cuthbert's thigh with every other step. Now that Cole was exposed to the brisk October air, and upside down, the blood had stopped trailing down his back, and was now congealing awkwardly in the cuts across his back. Gilbert watched, as one droplet broke free, and now started to trail towards Cole's neck, before finally getting lost in his hair. That was going to look peculiar once Cole was the right way up again.

As they hurried towards Belle and the cart, Gilbert threw a look back at the open barn door. Luckily, there was still no sign of Jeremiah. He hadn't stirred since Gilbert had thrown himself at him. And surely the punches to the back of the head wouldn't have done him any good. Gilbert hoped he hadn't killed him, but beyond that…

They had reached Belle and the cart, and with a grunt, Matthew slid Cole from his shoulder, catching him in his arms. Cole's eyes shot open as he momentarily fell, and gave a small cry as he landed back in Matthew's arms.

"What on Earth…?" A voice suddenly said. Loud and clear across the farm yard.

Matthew and Gilbert both spun around at the sound of the voice, Gilbert's eyes flying open in shock.

Mr Phillips.

Teddy Phillips had one hand on the gate, and clutched a handful of books in the other. He took a cautious step forwards, his eyes flying between the three of them, soaking in the scene. Then, with almost a run, he came towards them.

He didn't even glance at Gilbert, looking straight to Cole. He laid a hand on the back of Cole's head, and looked in horror at the boys torn and bruised flesh. He looked up at Matthew, his eyes wide and shocked.

"Mr Cuthbert? What on Earth has happened?"

Matthew grunted, "Never mind for the moment, help me get the boy in the cart."

Mr Phillips looked again at Cole's back, and nodded. He threw the books into the cart, and then hooked his arms around Cole's underarms, and helped Matthew turn him over, and lay him face down in the back of the cart.

"Take him down to my house. It's only just down the hill. I… I was only coming to drop off some books… He's missed school…"

Teddy jumped into the back of the cart with Cole and sat down next to him, resting a gentle hand on Cole's shoulder.

"Quickly now Matthew! He'll be getting cold!"

Matthew nodded, and with a glance at Gilbert, who Mr Phillips didn't seem to have even noticed, they both climbed up into the cart, and with a click to Belle, headed off down the hill to Mr Phillips' house.

Belle was cautious, navigating the hill side, which was steep in places. Especially when considering the weight of the cart pushing at her from behind. Matthew let her move gingerly. The last thing they needed at the moment was a fallen horse.

Gilbert sat up on the bench with Matthew, painfully aware of his wounds, and of the fact that the man who had given them to him was sitting right behind him. The cuts seemed to throb with his heartbeat, and his head was starting to ache.

He cautiously threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Mr Phillips and Cole. To his surprise, he noticed that Mr Phillips had removed his jacket, and had draped it lightly across Cole's back. Gilbert could just see the faint bloody trail that the blood droplet had made, as it had snaked up into Cole's hair. Clearly Mr Phillips had noticed it as well, as, with Gilbert watching discretely, Mr Phillips used his thumb to gently rub the blood trail away. Cole stirred momentarily under his touch, and muttered something inaudible. Mr Phillips leaned forward and whispered something into Cole's ear, which seemed to calm him, as he then lay still.

Gilbert turned his eyes back to the front, and looked out over Belle's bopping head. What had he just said to Cole? And why was he being so kind and gentle?

Gilbert's bottom lip suddenly trembled, against his better intentions. Mr Phillips had shown no kindness or gentleness to him yesterday.

Gilbert bit down hard on his lip, and turned his head away, hoping that neither of the men would notice the sudden rush of tears that flooded his eyes, clouding his vision. The Cuthberts, and Dr Spencer of course, had been very kind to him, when they hadn't needed to be, but…

Gilbert shook his head, frustrated with himself. But, what? What did he want?

Gilbert looked down at the shrubs dotted down the hill, as they passed. His thoughts whirring. He just wanted someone to notice him. He wanted someone to notice he was in pain, that his wounds had opened up again. It was certain, of course, that someone would help him, if he told them of his trouble. But he wanted someone to see it for themselves. He… His father would have noticed.

Gilbert's face crumpled, and he suddenly felt like a little boy again. He kept his face turned away, and buried it in his shoulder. So that no one would see him cry.


	32. Chapter 32 - A Ray Of Hope

Gilbert kept his face turned away, pretending to be busy looking down the hill, hoping that no one would see his desperate attempts to keep his shoulders from shaking.

With every jolt of the cart, as Belle navigated her way down the hill, the occupants were all jolted up from their seats, to land again with a hard thud. And with every thud down into the seat, a wave of pain soared around Gilbert's body. He bit his lower lip hard, screwing up his face. It suddenly seemed of vital importance to him that no one else should know of his discomfort. Perhaps it would have been fine, Gilbert reflected, if it had just been him, Mr Cuthbert and Cole. But he wouldn't give Mr Phillips the satisfaction of seeing what he had done to him.

From the sounds coming from the back of the cart, it seemed as if Cole was having an equally hard time during the rough journey. With each particularly hard lurch the cart gave, Cole let out a small cry, like the sound of a wounded animal. Gilbert was just aware that each time Cole cried out, an answering reassuring murmur came from Mr Phillips, sat next to him.

"Can't you go any gentler?" Mr Phillips enquired, sounding frustrated.

Matthew looked back from Belle's head for a moment, and gave Mr Phillips a glare, "Not if you want to get down to the house sometime within the next hour. Or we can be quicker if you don't mind the horse turning an ankle…?"

He left the question hanging awkwardly. Teddy Phillips returned the glare for a moment, before turning back to Cole.

Matthew looked back over Belle's head, with a frustrated look, and glanced over, conspiratorially, at Gilbert, with a tiny smirk.

The boy however, didn't meet his eye. He appeared to be staring at something down on the ground, right over his left shoulder, his face turned as far away as possible. Matthew looked at the back of the boy's head for a moment. His dark, curly hair, so like his father's at the same age, was sweaty at the back of his neck, clinging to his skin in damp clumps.

Matthew looked harder, and then noticed a tiny judder of the boy's shoulders, which then repeated, over and over, as Matthew watched. Was the lad crying…?

"Gilbert?" Matthew whispered the boy's name, but got no response.

"Gilbert…?" He enquired, a little louder this time. He watched, as the boy jumped at the sound of his name, and rapidly swiped the sleeve of his jacket over his face, before turning to glance up at him.

Matthew looked at the lad's face. His cheeks were blotchy and red, as were his eyes, which looked weepy and irritated.

"Are you well?" Matthew asked, quietly.

Gilbert bit his lip and nodded quickly, "Yes Sir."

At that moment, the cart gave a particularly violent jump, as Belle pulled it over a rocky section of the hill. Both Matthew and Gilbert were momentarily thrown upwards from their seats, before landing with a hard clap.

Matthew, who had still happened to be looking at Gilbert, watched, as a wave of pain rippled through the boy's face, which he tried his best to hide, throwing an anxious glance back at Mr Phillips and Cole in the back of the cart.

Matthew looked ahead for a moment, giving the boy a long moment to try and compose himself. Then, without saying a word, reached out a hand and laid it on the boy's thigh. A silent gesture of support, and comfort.

Gilbert looked down at the large, work-worn hand laying on his leg, and again, his eyes flooded with tears. But this time, only taking the care required to angle his face away from Mr Phillips, he let himself be comforted. There was someone who had noticed, someone who cared. And someone who didn't ask too many questions.

Matthew kept his hand on Gilbert's leg for the rest of the bumpy journey down to Mr Phillips' house. Taking care to give his knee a squeeze of support every time Belle dragged them over a particularly bumpy section of hill.

"Finally!" Mr Phillips announced, still sounding faintly frustrated, as they reached the bottom of the hill, and joined the short track that led them towards his house.

Matthew climbed down first, but instead of heading to the back of the cart, to help get Cole down, he went around to Gilbert's side. Gilbert was climbing down awkwardly, aware of the wet, stickiness making his pants cling tightly to his behind. He felt a steadying hand on his elbow, and glanced back at Matthew.

He noticed as Matthew's eyes flickered down to his pants, then up to his face. His expression a mixture of concern and compassion. He squeezed Gilbert's elbow and leaned in close.

"We'll get it fixed in due course. Hold back, and we'll just get Cole seen to first… Aye?"

Gilbert nodded, and Matthew released his hold on Gilbert's elbow, as Gilbert found his feet on the ground.

Gilbert stood back as Matthew made his way around to the back of the cart, and, with help from Mr Phillips, swung Cole back up onto his shoulder, letting Mr Phillips lead the way into the house. Matthew glanced back at Gilbert, motioning with his head that he should follow.

As they approached the front door, it swung open and a small girl appeared in the doorway. She looked between the four of them, her expression puzzled.

"Uncle Teddy? Who are these people?"

She pointed at Cole, still slumped over Matthew's shoulder, her expression concerned.

"Is that boy dead?"

Matthew was able to crack a tiny smile at the small girl in the doorway.

"No Miss, he'll be quite well soon enough. May we come in?"

Mr Phillips stepped past Matthew and shooed the little girl back into the house. "That's my ward, Sarah. She's an inquisitive little thing."

Following Sarah into the house, Gilbert watched her long dark plait rippling as she hurried towards the back of the house. She was one of the sweetest little things he'd ever seen.


End file.
